


TK!

by LoudLucy



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Bart/Cissie tension for like a sec, Fandom, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Original characters for like 5 seconds, Romance, Slow Burn, underage drinking?!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4155111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudLucy/pseuds/LoudLucy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After quickly becoming friends on the superhero team Young Justice, Tim and Kon's feelings for each other gradually start to change.</p><p>A series of drabbles that turned into a plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Shampoo Do You Use?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kon wants to go meet up with his team, but first must face some unhappy consequences.

“Conner, before you go, did you finish sweeping out the tack room?  It’s getting mighty dusty in there.” 

“Yes, Mr. Kent,” Kon droned. He had swept out the tack room as soon as he returned from school. Did he do it _perfectly?_ No, but Mr. Kent didn’t need to know that. It was a lot better than when he started anyway. 

“And you’ve finished your homework?”

“ _Yes_ , Mr. Kent,” Kon repeated. Okay, that one was a lie, but he was _saving_ this particular homework assignment. They were starting their physics unit, and everyone knew that Bart was practically a physics genius. He was most likely better than his teacher, so he wasn’t really skipping his assignment; it was more like he was… _using his resources._  

Kon peeled off his dirty, dusty “farm pants,” put on the darker, slightly tighter, “Superboy jeans,” and checked himself out in the mirror. His dark hair was a little bit askew, but fixing it before flying would be pointless.  The black and red t-shirt he was wearing was getting a little tight. Either his chest was getting bigger, or Mrs. Kent stuck it in with the hot-water clothes in the laundry again. Hopefully it was the first one. 

“All right,” he called.  “I’m out!” He thumped down the stairs in his motorcycle boots, the black leather much too clean and snazzy for the dusty, muddy farm. He swung the screen door open, fast, but not so fast that he took off the hinge like he did last time, though, despite his mindfulness, it screamed and creaked in protest to the sudden change in position. 

“Conner!”  Shrieked a female voice.  Kon had been about to launch himself off the wooden porch, and he tried to stop so suddenly that he almost fell over the railing into Ma Kent’s bluebells. He managed to brace himself against railing, wincing, not at his near face-plant, but because if _Mrs._ Kent wanted something, that meant he’d have to do it, and he’d have to do it right. 

Kon sighed. “Yes Mrs. Kent?”

The slightly plump farmwife made her way out onto the dusty porch.  She was wearing a dress and an apron, and she was actually carrying a _feather duster_.  Kon understood why he didn’t get too many pop culture references, but even _he_ knew that this was about as stereotypical as you could get. 

Mrs. Kent put her hands on her hips—always a dangerous stance. “You will not _believe_ who I saw at the grocery store today,” she sing-songed.  It _seemed_ like a normal conversation topic, but there was a dangerous glint in her blue eyes that Kon recognized. He was definitely in trouble for something.

“Mrs. Kent,” he said, running a nervous hand upwards from his neck through his hair and giving her a sheepish grin. “I’m sure you saw someone really interesting, but you know I have to get to Hap—” 

“Oh trust me, Conner,” Mrs. Kent interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “You will _want_ to know what Mrs. Mitchell told me.”

 _Mitchell, Mitchell, Mitchell…_ what could Mrs. Mitchell know that…a thought dawned on Kon, and his eyes widened in horror.  He glanced towards the inside of the house, where Mr. Kent was watching their exchange. “ _Help me!”_ Kon tried to convey towards the old man, but he just shook his head and turned back towards the kitchen. 

“I see that look on your face, young man,” Mrs. Kent chided, waving the feather duster at him. “How could you do that? How could you be so irresponsible?”

There was no lying his way out of it now.  Kon wished he could sink into the ground and disappear forever from the look that Mrs. Kent was giving him, forgetting, unfortunately, that he could literally just jump up and fly away.

 “I’m sorry I forgot about the group project,” he said, holding his hands out in front of him, like he was trying to calm some sort of angry beast instead of a little old woman half his size.  “I apologized to Aillee at school—”

“ _Apologized?!”_ Mrs. Kent shrieked again. _Oh no_. “That’s not what I heard from _Mrs. Mitchell!”_ Kon winced, and Mr. Kent finally came out onto the porch to try to calm the situation. 

“Now, now, Martha. I’m sure you don’t need to _yell_ at the poor boy,” Mr. Kent said calmly, placing a wrinkled, calloused hand on his wife’s shoulder.

Mrs. Kent ignored her husband. “You told that girl that _we_ told you that you weren’t allowed to do your homework until you tilled the north soybean field! Mrs. Mitchell was looking at me like I was running my farm on…on _child labor_.” 

“Well, it’s not like I could say, ‘Sorry _Aillee_ , I can’t work on our History Project, I have to fly across the country to go stop a bank robbery in Star City by stopping bullets with my bare hands.’ I think those people in the bank needed me more than _Aillee Mitchell_!”

“Now, Conner, don’t raise your voice,” Mr. Kent chided, unruffled as ever. “Aillee needed Conner Kent, but did those people really need Superboy? I’m sure your friends could have handled a little old bank robbery just fine.”

Conner opened his mouth to retort, but the words wouldn’t come. As per usual, Mr. Kent was right.

Now it was Mrs. Kent’s turn to rub it in his face. “That girl had to do that project practically all by herself. Good grades mean a lot to the folks in this town, Conner! A bad grade on a project might mean she doesn’t get into college!” 

That was a little dramatic, but, in truth, he saw her point. “Fine,” he retorted, fighting very hard not to roll his eyes. “You’re right, Mrs. Kent. I stood Aillee up, compromised her schoolwork, and made you two look bad. It was ungrateful and inconsiderate, and I’m sorry. Now can I _please_ go to Happy Harbor?”

Mrs. Kent cocked an eyebrow,  “You may,” she replied.  Kon turned around to superspeed it the hell out of Podunk Smallville, K-A until Mrs. Kent continued, “ _After_ you go to Aillee Mitchell’s house and apologize to her. _Face-to-face_.”

That thought was just a little bit too horrible for him to bear. “But Mrs. _Kent_ ,” Conner whined despite himself, “Do I _have_ to?”

In that moment, Kon finally realized just how one tiny little farmwife could manage to boss around the most powerful being on the planet.

 

This was how Kon El of Planet Krypton/Son of the World’s Richest Evil Genius found himself in front of the itty bitty pale blue farmhouse on the “far side” of Smallville, if anywhere in that town was truly “far” from anywhere else. The sun was setting, and it cast a golden glow on the wheat fields behind him. A sweet, earthy-smelling, early spring breeze ruffled his hair as he stood on the porch. He gripped the I’m-Sorry-Blueberry pie tighter and his hand, and knocked. 

“Hello? Aillee?” He called, thinking to himself what a silly name Aillee was for the thirtieth time that afternoon.  He nervously adjusted the zipper on his hoodie, pulled uncomfortably high on his neck to hide his Superboy S, and waited impatiently. “Aillee are you there?”

He heard his classmate’s socked feet coming down the stairs at the front of the house, and she came to the door, looking mightily confused, but not altogether unhappy.  “Conner Kent?” She said, opening the peeling white-paint door and pushing her dusty brown hair behind one ear.  “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, um,” Conner muttered, running his hand up the back of his head, feeling nervous again. “I just, um, came by to give you this.” He shoved the pie in her hands a little roughly, and she gave him a slightly startled look.

“Well, ah, it looks delicious,” she said smiling at him, cornflower blue eyes twinkling, “Did you make it yourself?”

“Uh, no.” Kon replied, surprised that the girl had any faith in his ability to bake. His blue eyes widened just a little. “Ma made it for me, but, um, I helped.” This was not entirely a lie. He _did_ set the oven to 350 degrees, and he _had_ set the timer, and he _would_ have helped more, but Mrs. Kent had told him to “move his big body to somewhere it was less in the way,” which he had, gratefully.

“That’s really sweet, Conner,” Aillee replied, seemingly honest.

Kon was suddenly very grateful that he had picked one of the kinder girls in his class to blow off. It was much easier to apologize to someone who wasn’t furious at you.  “Thanks,” he said, a grin cracking his normally stoic face.

“You mind if I ask what this delicious-looking homemade pie is for?”

“It’s for, well…um…” not for the first time that day, Kon was without words.  “Aillee, it’s not the easiest thing for me to say…”

There was a slight awkward pause before Aillee gushed, “Yes, Conner. You don’t have to say it. I’d love to!”

Kon’s eyebrows furrowed. He had missed something. “Excuse me?”

Aillee clutched the Blueberry Pie to her chest, and hopped from foot-to-foot. “Yes, Conner! I’d love to go to Senior/Junior Prom with you!”

Kon’s eyes widened in horror, as the girl set the pie down on the end table next to the porch chair and wrapped her arms as far as they would go around his shoulders.  “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, as she squeezed him, still unsure what was going on. “You think that I’m asking you to _Prom_?” 

Aillee stopped laughing, and the arms she had wrapped around him slowly slackened.  She stepped backwards, and her eyes narrowed.  “You’re _not_?” She asked, baffled.

“No!” Kon cried, “No, no no.  I’m here because I stood you up for the group project meeting.”

Aillee peered at him for a few long seconds, looking like she had never seen something so idiotic in her entire life. “Stood…you stood me up?”

“Yeah, well, about that,” he continued, not hearing the warning sirens blaring in his subconscious. “I told you that I was tilling the field, but I actually…um…took a _road trip_ to see my friends in…ah…Wichita.”

“Wichita,” she repeated in disbelief.

Wichita was sort of nearby right?  He nodded. “Yeah. Wichita.”

“So,” Aillee said, a business-like smile plastering itself across her prettily freckled face.  “You’re telling me that last week I pulled an all-nighter doing an entire presentation on the Cold War by myself, while you went to Wichita to whoop it up with your friends, so that you could tell me that you are absolutely, positively _not_ taking me to Prom, and you think that a _pie_ is going to fix that?!” 

When she repeated that back to him, it sounded pretty bad. “Sorry?” Kon tried hesitantly, his effort at a smile looking more like a grimace.

Aillee closed her eyes and smiled to herself. Her level of calm should have been a warning, but in that moment, Kon only felt brief relief. “You know, Conner,” she said, placing a sincere-looking hand on her heart as she reached for the end table. “I sure am _glad_ your mother made me this pie.”

 

* * *

  

“Oh my _God_!” Cissie cackled. “Serves you right, Kon!”

“Dude!” Bart cried, a hand clutching his stomach. “She totally owned you.”

“Well, now we finally know Superboy’s _true_ weakness,” Cassie said, fixing him with a sly glance. “Let us all beware of the _Angry Farm Girl Menace_!”

Kon sunk down into the couch, glaring at each of them in turn. “Come on. You guys are supposed to have my back.”

“We _do_ , Kon,” Tim consoled, clasping his shoulder with a calloused hand.  “Speaking of which…” he focused his sharp gray eyes on the back of Kon’s head, ran his fingers through his hair, and pulled out a mushy, syrupy, cooked blueberry. “You may want to wash your hair before patrol. We wouldn’t want to alert the bad guys with the sweet smell of Ma Kent’s Blueberry Pie!”


	2. Never Have I Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kon and Tim get to know each other a little better when bored on patrol.

Happy Harbor was called Happy Harbor for a reason. Firstly, the tiny Rhode Island town was actually a port, a safe little bay for huge steamers and little sailboats alike to find refuge.  Secondly, but no less important, the town was generally happy.  It was a big city, so crime _did_ happen, but it was nowhere near as prevalent as it was in, say, Gotham.

And this suited Tim just fine.  He couldn’t spend _all_ of his time putting the fear in international terrorists and mob bosses. The small coast city was close to Blüdhaven, Metropolis, New York, Gotham, and Washington D.C., meaning, with the help of Bart, Kon, and Cassie, the team could be pretty much anywhere they needed to be in an instant.

And when they weren’t needed? Well, then Tim got some well-deserved down time.

Currently, he and Kon were perched on the ledge on the top one of the tall, modern, glass buildings near the wharf, waiting for something to happen. (Or not.)  The night air was brisk and slightly fishy-smelling, but it wasn’t unpleasant. A large waxing moon shone above them as they scanned the city for any strange activity.

Tim was currently telling Kon about his week. Because Tim could only come to Happy Harbor on the weekends, he missed a lot of the camaraderie that occurred between the team members during the week.  That meant that it was good leadership practice to swap stories with Kon. Plus, his quietness made him really easy to talk to.

“So then, on Thursday, after I got home from the dumb board meeting, Penny One and I actually got to watch some Premier League, Man City versus Chelsea, which was honestly _the_ best game I’ve seen in a while because—” 

“Premier League…” Kon muttered to himself, slowly, interrupting Tim’s story.  With a shade of embarrassment in his voice, he asked, “Which sport is that again?”

“Soccer,” Tim said immediately. “Or football, but—”

“Wait, soccer and football are the same thing?” Kon asked, his voice growing louder and sounding frustrated. “Then what’s the one with the quarterback?”

“Football,” Tim replied a little quickly, trying to explain. “Overseas, they call soccer ‘football’ and football ‘American football,’ but really we’re the weird ones because we’re the only ones who call soccer soccer.”

Kon narrowed his eyes at Tim. “Are you messing with me?" 

“No!” Tim cried.  “It’s just, you look so much like a jock that I forget you don’t know these things sometimes.”  It was true. Kon was tall and strapping, with a big strong chest and powerful-looking arms. Tim sometimes looked at those biceps a little jealously, and had to reassure himself that he was built for stealth, not strength.

“God, what _ever_ ,” Kon muttered. “Sports are pointless anyway.”

“Come on,” Tim said. “They’re not that bad. You have to have at least one sport you like to play.”

Kon just stared at him blankly. “No,” he huffed. “I don’t.”

Tim looked at his friend for a moment. There was something Kon wasn’t telling him.  Then it hit him. “Have you ever played a sport at _all_?”

Kon’s voice immediately turned defensive.  “Well it’s not like I had a _normal childhood_ , Red Robin! They didn’t have a _Rec Sports League_ at Cadmus Labs!”

“But you’ve never played anything in Smallville? Baseball? Track and Field? Tennis?”

“I’m super strong, super fast, and slightly telekinetic. If that’s not an unfair advantage then I don’t know what is.”

Tim waited a beat to wrap his head around this. “So you’re telling me,” he said incredulously to Kon, his eyebrows high on his forehead in disbelief. “That you’ve never even played a game of soccer?”

“The one where you can’t use your hands? No, never.” Kon replied, his tone blasé.  The wind from the Atlantic ruffled Kon’s short black mane, but only managed to tickle Tim’s chin.  His hooded cowl and leathers made sense in Gotham, but they were a little unwieldy here. Kon looked enviably cool in his t-shirt. 

“Did you ever want to, you know, try it some time? Soccer, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Kon conceded, looking out towards the ocean. “But, how would I play? _Who_ would I play? As far as I know there’s no, like, Kryptonian Soccer League.”

“Why don’t you and I play?” Tim asked. 

“No offense, Tim, but I’m pretty sure I’d smoke you,” Kon said. It was a cocky statement, but not _completely_ untrue, and he hadn’t meant it meanly, but Tim was already formulating a plan.

“Maybe if we were playing a real game, sure.  But what about if we just juggle?” Tim saw the confused look on Kon’s face and immediately clarified.  “It’s when you and a partner try to pass the ball back and forth without letting it touch the ground. There’s also a lot of tricks you can do. It’s not about strength or speed. It’s more about coordination and muscle control.”

“So it’s not a game?”

“Not exactly, but it’s still a way to kill time that involves a ball,” Tim smiled, clambering off the ledge of the building back onto the roof. “Come on. You have to try it with me. I’ll teach you.”

“But… we’re on patrol,” Kon said skeptically, although Tim could hear the grin he was hiding in his voice. 

“Big deal!  Nothing’s happening tonight, and Cassie’s watching the monitor. She’ll tell us if something’s up.  Come _on_.”

“Okay, okay,” Kon said, feigning annoyance.  “But we don’t have a ball.”

“What’s the use of having friends with superpowers if they can’t do you favors every once in awhile?” Tim asked, arching an eyebrow despite the fact that the expression was probably hidden under his cowl. He pressed the communicator button near his ear and spoke.  “Impulse, come in, Impulse.”

After a split second, Bart’s voice came crackling in over the receiver.  “I’m here, Red Robin. What’s up? 

“I have a very important mission for you,” Tim said gravely, smirking at Kon, who had come over to stand beside him.

“Anything!” Bart said, sounding excited.

“Good,” Tim replied.  “Go back to base, go into the supply closet opposite the kitchen, open the door, get my soccer ball out of the closet, and bring it to my location. Copy?” 

“Ugghh,” moaned Bart over the radio, while Tim laughed. “Why am I always relegated to errand boy?”

“Because,” Kon chimed in, a rare smile on his face, “you’re just so _good_ at it.”

Bart must have left his post because Cissie chimed in, “Don’t get distracted and play around with them, Bart! You’ll have hell to pay if you leave me here by myself!”

It didn’t take Bart more than two minutes to bring over a weathered old soccer ball from base, and zip away to go back to patrolling with Cissie, and Kon and Tim wasted no time in getting started. 

“Why don’t I show you how it’s done first?” Tim asked, stepping on the ball with his boot to keep it in place while removing his cape. He pushed on the ratty black-and-white ball a little bit with his foot to check the pressure, and then rolled it onto a sitting position on top of his foot. “Be forewarned, I’ve never done with boots before.”

 “No backing out now,” Kon said, smirking. “I’m still gonna laugh at you if you suck.”

“I never said that I’d _suck_ ,” Tim retorted. “I just might not embarrass you as badly as I was planning to.” 

“Whatever. Show me what you got.”

Tim shrugged, and popped the ball up in the air. The first time it hit his foot, his timing was just a little off and the ball popped in front of him, but he managed to regain control and kick it back to his chest. After that it was easy.  He couldn’t look at Kon, but he could tell by his silence that he was kind of impressed. After he had popped it up around eight times, he shouted, “I’m going to send it over your way now, that okay?”

“Sure.”

He kicked the ball over towards his friend. Truthfully, it wasn’t the best pass, but it wasn’t bad, and it was heading towards Kon’s right foot. Kon’s face was dead serious, and his blue eyes were sharply focused on the trajectory of ball. The first kick was good, launching the ball up in the air, but no higher than his head. The next kick went too far forward.  Kon flailed wildly out to get the ball and missed badly.  

“Good first kick!” Tim exclaimed, hustling to the right to get the ball before it bounced off the edge of the building.  Kon said nothing, but he stared at the ball menacingly. 

“Pass that here,” Kon ordered darkly.  Tim obeyed, and Kon carefully placed the ball on top his foot and tried again to juggle.  Tim was impressed; his friend kicked the ball four or five times or so before the ball bounced out of his reach. 

“That was really good!” Tim blurted out as he ran again to get the ball.

“Don’t patronize me, Robin.”

“No seriously, SB.  You’re really good. This is the kind of thing that takes a lot of practice.” He bent over and picked up the ball and then squeezed it tightly in his hands. “Wanna just pass it back and forth now?”

Kon shrugged noncommittally.  It was a sort of an uninterested reaction, but Tim had gotten to know Kon well enough to understand that if he _really_ hated what they were doing, he would be complaining about it. He kicked the ball in Kon’s direction, and they began. 

The only sound on the top of the building was the rhythmic gentle thump as the ball hit their feet. They didn’t really need to say anything, so they didn’t. They just passed the ball back and forth, occasionally laughing when someone kicked it too high or too hard. They were mostly just focused on controlling the ball. 

After they had been passing for twenty minutes or so, Tim kicked the ball _way_ too hard, far over Kon’s head.  “Get it! Get it! Kick it backwards!” He yelled.

Kon grunted as he gazed at the ball, and with a great deal of effort, attempted a bicycle kick over his head. 

Miraculously, the ball connected with Kon’s foot, but Tim practically had to do a combat roll as the ball whizzed by his head like a laser. Before he even knew what was happening, Kon was dashing off the rooftop after the ball.

Tim followed as fast as he could, running to the ledge and peering over the edge just as Kon flew back up, ball safely grasped in his big hands, the Narraganset Bay glittering in the starlight behind him 

Kon made a sort of fantastical picture, if Tim ignored the fact that he was holding a ratty soccer ball.

“I think the only thing Happy Harbor has to be looking out for tonight is falling balls,” Kon quipped, tossing the ball back to Tim.

Tim snorted.  “We might actually do some damage if it hit somebody.  Want to quit for tonight?”

“Yeah, but... it’s not totally lame. We can play it again sometime,” Kon replied. Tim felt stupidly lighthearted as the two of them sat themselves down on the ledge to continue business as usual, staring out at their city in silence.

“Red Robin?” Kon asked after a moment.

“Hmm?”

Kon took a deep breath and looked away from him. Tim could tell that his cheeks were a little bit flushed, even in the dim light. “Is there anything that… _you’ve_ never done before that everyone just assumes you’ve done?”  He spoke slowly and softly, and Tim realized his friend was embarrassed. “You know, just so we’re even.”

“Well….” Tim scoured his mind for something appropriate. Being the adoptive son of a billionaire had its benefits, and one of those was being able to do almost anything he wanted, when he had the time.  Not only that, but when his father was still alive, he had done normal kid things too.  Then, the answer came to him, glaringly, embarrassingly obvious.

“I’ve always lived in the city, and most of my life I’ve had a driver, so…” Tim began.  He hesitated and glanced over at Kon, who was looking straight at him. Patiently. Intently. “So, I’ve never learned how to ride a bike.”

“What?!”  Kon shouted, smiling wide and bracing himself on the ledge.  “You ride a motorcycle!  How can you be telling me that you’ve never ridden a bike before.” 

“Hey! Don’t laugh at me,” Tim murmured.  His cheeks were heating up, and for the first time all night he was grateful for the full-face cowl. “I’ve ridden motor bikes, but not, like, analog.”

Kon just snorted at that and laughed the word “analog” under his breath.

“Okay, whatever asshole,” Tim said. “Just imagine what the Smallville kids would say if I told them you didn’t know how many points a field goal scores you.”

“Please no!” Kon laughed loudly, and Tim found himself chuckling too. 

After a moment, when they stopped laughing, Kon said, “Do you mind, um, not telling anyone that I’ve never played sports and stuff before?” 

Tim grinned.  “And risk you telling the world that I’ve never ridden a fucking _bike_? Yeah. No problem, bro.  Your secret’s safe with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like if Kon just got out of the old Test Tube, he'd still have a lot to learn about culture. It amuses me to think that such a cool guy might be totally clueless about things we take for granted.   
> Also, sorry to disappoint if you were really hoping for the game Never Have I Ever! (That's coming, I promise!) Thanks for reading!


	3. When Are We Ever Gonna Use This?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim faces death with a level head. Kon learns that high school physics can come in handy.

The humid air was whistling through the gaping hole in his cape, his grappling gun was somewhere on the top of a building twenty or so feet away, and Tim Drake had the vague thought that this particular view of Star City was very beautiful.  He had a completely unobstructed view of the Pacific and the sun setting over it, creating a dramatic palette of deep violet and burnt orange on the cloudy evening sky. 

It would have been a stunning sight, if Tim weren’t currently falling to his death.

Less than half a second ago, an explosion atop the tallest building on the west coast had thrown him off the roof, and the shrapnel had damaged his cape in the process. His typical leather uniform would have been fine, but he was currently testing out a new, lightweight, prototype Red Robin suit for warmer climates, and the delicate material he used to glide had been torn to shreds. 

It had been a stupid mistake getting up to the roof that had lost his grappling gun too, and now he was left with nothing to grab onto, nothing to save him, as he fell over one hundred stories to his death. His glossy black mop whipped around his face, and he quipped to himself that at least he could feel the wind in his hair before he went _splat_.

Despite the fact that he was currently in free fall, Tim wasn’t _overly_ concerned. Sure, his heart rate was elevated, and he wasn’t about to look down at the cement below him, but he did have two friends who could fly in the immediate vicinity, and this wasn’t exactly the first time he had been thrown off a tall building.

Tim reached down to his communicator quickly and pressed the _transmit_ button. “This is Red Robin. I require immediate air support. Currently falling off the…” Tim paused a millisecond to orient himself, “…the South side of the building. Grappling gun compromised. This is priority alpha. Once again…”

  

* * *

 

 

“…This is Red Robin asking for _immediate_ air support. Seriously guys and girls.”

“That’s one of you two!” Kon heard Cissie yell from across the room.  She fired an arrow that hurtled past his ear and exploded in one of the robots behind him.

“I’m a little busy at the moment!” Cassie shouted. With a scream, she threw one of the robots into another that was approaching Bart from behind.

The team had flown to Star City to investigate rumors of a microrobotics scientist that had gone rogue in attempts to create a new “army” of sorts for super villains.  Dr. Stephen Banks, under the alias “Professor Radical” (really?), had used the Internet to try and promote the sale of his robots on the black market. 

It was bad news for him that the Justice League had no problem monitoring illegal auctions.

So their team had gotten here, and all hell had broken loose. Tim had seen Dr. Radical race up the stairs and had immediately followed in pursuit, but the rest of them had gotten caught up in fighting the robots that he had created, which Kon had to admit, were pretty tough.

Sirens screamed all around them as they pounded one robot after another. It had seemed like they were infinitely many of them, until Bart finally had noticed that they were reforming themselves upon destruction. 

It was causing them to panic a little bit.  Tim was the one who usually told them how to beat the smart bad guys.  Kon was just the one who smashed things up with his fists.  They were in bad shape when he had abandoned them to confront the good doctor, but now he was falling?

_It’s a tall building. Tim is fine. Tim will think of something._

But it was at that moment, all at once, that Kon remembered what he had learned in school that week.

...

It had been four days ago—Wednesday—and the Kansas skies had been calling him.  Kansas might be small, and rural, and unexciting, _and_ covered in acre after acre of corn and wheat, but the sky over Kansas was undeniably awesome. 

Awesome was the perfect word to describe it too, Kon had decided. You could stand on a little rise overlooking a field and see the world stretch out at you in all directions, always with the sky looming huge, heavy, _immense_ over you, and it would invariably take your breath away.

At night it was star-spangled wonder—the Milky Way clearly visible and hundreds of thousands of twinkling lights everywhere you looked, the night not so much dark and dangerous like in Gotham, but glorious and serene.

But on days like that day—especially _school_ days like that day—the _blue_ called.  People who didn’t live in farm country could have no proper understanding of the term “sky blue.”  White puffy clouds weren’t even marring the sky that day, and there was nothing more that Kon wanted to do at that moment then to throw off his glasses, open the windows of the tiny classroom wide, and leap out into the sky and survey the world. Just fly and fly and fly and _fly_ until he forgot everything else and— 

“Mr. Kent?”  Mrs. Quail’s sharp voice snapped him out of his daydream and back to the dreary washed out colors of his classroom.  His classmates were all staring at him expectantly.

“Sorry?”  He said, trying to remember his manners.

“I was _asking_ ,” Mrs. Quail said, her lips pursed, “If you would be willing to show the class the answer to the problem we were discussing.”

“Umm…right…” Kon muttered.  He struggled to stand up out of the tiny desk he was forced to squeeze into and to make his way up to the chalkboard.

The subject he was currently studying was physics, which he largely found stupid, since Kryptonians seemed to break most of the laws of physics anyway.  Bart would have told him that the laws of physics are universal, and Tim would have told him that something in his physiology must explain his super strength and his flight, but Cissie would tell him that it didn’t really pertain to what _he_ was going to end up doing with his life, and _Cassie_ would say, “well, I’m the _love child_ of a mortal archaeologist and an immortal Greek _god_ , so ‘physics’ doesn’t really mean shit to _me_." 

Most of the time, his sentiments towards Physics leaned towards Cassie’s, but now he really wished he was more like Bart.

The question on the board should have been simple. They had been going over projectiles and gravity every day for a week.  But Kon hadn’t been paying attention this week, or any week. Plus, he had pawned all of his homework off to Bart, so he didn’t really have a _clue_ what was going on. 

The problem was asking the question how long something would take to hit the ground, which was 900 feet away, given an initial downward velocity of zero meters per second.  Kon’s mind drew a mighty blank. “Anyone want to give me a hand?” He had asked, eliciting a round of laughter from the class.

“Distance equals one-half gravity times time squared,” Hugh Hatten, a large, flaxen-haired football player hollered from the rear of the classroom, up-nodding at Kon in support.  Kon gave him a thumbs up.  Now that he had the equation it wouldn’t be too hard to solve for t and get the answer. He wasn’t a _complete_ idiot.

“13.5 seconds,” Kon said, performing the simple algebraic equation. 

“Very good, Conner,” Mrs. Quail said. “Please thank Mr. Hatten for his help.” 

“Thanks Hugh,” Kon said, giving the farm boy a high-five on the way back to his desk. Mrs. Quail continued to talk about horizontal versus vertical projectile movement, and Kon vaguely heard Ashley Tippins murmur to Felicity Barber, “Less than 15 seconds to fall _900 feet?_ That’s, like, barely any time at all…”

…

_Oh FUCK,_ Kon thought.

 

* * *

  

At this point Tim was pretty certain he was about to die.

It had been over eight seconds already, which meant he had to be pretty close to hitting the ground.  Not only that, but noises of Star City below him started to overpower the howling of the wind in his ears. 

It was strange what a sense of calm he felt.  Of course, dying was a hazard of his chosen profession, but his brain seemed to be completely incapable of comprehending the idea that he would be perishing any second.  He thought of Bruce, who would probably never forgive himself. And of Cassie, who would probably never forgive _herself_. And of Kon, who, for some reason, he pictured weeping over his grave with a bouquet of the flowers that grew outside of Clark’s parent’s house. That was a very sad thought, Tim mused. He wouldn’t want his friends to blame themselves for his death.

Even though it _was_ kind of their fault.

Now he could hear the screaming of people below him. Obviously they had seen his plummeting body.  He hoped they cleared the sidewalk. He’d hate to take anyone else out with him.

The horizon was starting to disappear, and he wanted the last thing he saw to be that sublime sunset. Tim closed his eyes.

_WHUMP_.

The sudden change in momentum rattled his brain, and Tim saw stars behind his eyelids. All at once, all of the fear that he hadn’t felt during his thirteen-second free fall rushed into him.  His muscles tensed up, his heartbeat skyrocketed, and he suddenly clutched and grabbed at whoever was carrying him with all the desperate ferocity of a cat trying to escape a bath.

One strong arm was wrapped around his waist, and thankfully, another was holding his neck. Somewhere in the back of Tim’s mind, he registered that the whiplash would have probably snapped his spinal cord in half if his savior hadn’t remembered to brace it.

Slowly he started to make out the deep voice next to his ear muttering, “You’re okay. I got you.”  _It was Kon then_ , Tim thought to himself, relaxing his grip ever so slightly, though his whole body was still flooded with adrenaline.  _God Bless Kon-El._

A gentle breeze and a few mild changes in direction later, and Tim found himself just above the adjacent rooftop, Kon gently setting them down on the roof.  Tim felt his feet hit the ground, soft as a feather, and the feeling of relief he felt could be described as nothing but euphoric.

Kon still gripped his arms.  Tim looked up from that blessed cement rooftop to his friend’s bright blue eyes, blue like sky, although the sky had never looked quite so terrified.

“Everything okay, SB?”

“No. Everything is _not_ okay.” Kon said, one hand squeezing his bicep a little tighter while the second ran upwards through the hair on the back of his head.  Tim gave him a questioning look.  Kon just stared at him.  “I did the math!”  He said frantically.  “Distance is one half gravity times time squared! You should be _dead_!”

Tim looked at Kon in disbelief.  “You didn’t factor in air resistance?” He asked, half joking. “What are they _teaching_ you in that hick school of yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my dumb little TimKon fic! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you enjoyed reading it :)


	4. In The Biblical Sense...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Steph get to talking at a Wayne Foundation charity event, and Steph won't let sleeping dogs lie...

Stephanie Brown walked into the second-floor drawing room of Wayne Manor, and she looked like she _belonged_. Her fair hair fell in sultry waves over her tanned shoulders, which were left bare by the strapless black cocktail dress she was wearing.  Her waist was small and cinched; her legs looked long and smooth; her arms were strong, graceful. And then there was her ass…

Tim willed himself not to blush and wondered why they had ever ended things.

Stephanie flashed him a wicked smirk. “Oh no! Should I not have worn heels? Am I _taller_ than you?!”

 _That’s why_ , Tim thought to himself.  _She drives you freaking in **sane**_ **.**

“You’re _fine_ , Steph,” he snapped.

“Oh, chil _lax_ , Timothy. I was just kidding.  You’re not _that_ short.”  She took him in with an appraising glance of her deep blue eyes.  “That tux looks nice on you, by the way.  Great choice, Alfred!”

Tim blustered, “I can pick out my own tuxes, Stephanie!” Just as Alfred said, “your compliments are greatly appreciated, as always, Ms. Brown.”  Steph just cackled.

“Let’s just go,” Tim said angrily, grabbing Steph’s elbow and dragging her out of the drawing room.

Tonight was the night of one of Bruce Wayne’s crazy parties. They were a way to show the world what an indulgent, narcissistic asshole Bruce Wayne was, which helped maintain the secret identity of Batman.  Being the adoptive son of the indulgent, narcissistic asshole in question meant that Tim had to go to _at least_ one party per quarter, and they were always more fun with a date.  Tim found that if he didn’t bring someone, suitors would periodically attack him throughout the night.

Steph made the ideal date.  She cleaned up really nice, she had good manners (when she wanted to use them), and most importantly, she didn’t take these sorts of things seriously.   She would laugh at brownnosers, roll her eyes at pretentiousness, and when no one was looking she would stick straws up her nose and pretend she was a walrus. Essentially, she was a riot.

Tim and Steph might not have worked as boyfriend and girlfriend, but as friends? They were pretty much perfect.

The two of them rounded the corner to the main foyer, and the sound of the strings from the ballroom could be heard.  Well-dressed couples, chattering excitedly, filed over the intricate parquet floor into the ballroom that fell in between the double staircases, each guarded by security.  Steph stood at the top of the staircase, facing him, the huge crystal chandelier glistening behind her.  They were about to start their pre-event ritual, which Steph had always insisted they do so that she could get “into character.” They’d done it so many times now that she didn’t even have to convince him anymore.

“Thank you, _ever_ so much for escorting me this evening, Master Drake,” Steph said, sticking her nose in the air and adopting a bad British accent.

“It is my greatest, pleasure, Lady Stephanie,” Tim said, trying his best to sound the part of a Southern Gentleman.  If he didn’t do it right, she would probably tell him to start over.  He winked at her as he bowed, eliciting a guffaw. “Watch that laugh, Steph. It was a little un-ladylike.” 

She rolled her eyes but then tittered girlishly.

“Better.” He said, fixing a silver cufflink. “Do you have your purse?”

“Yes.”

“Are you wearing your makeup?”

“If you can’t tell then you’ll never know!”

“Do you have your _shoes_?”

“That was _one time!_ ”

“Okay, okay, I couldn’t help myself,” Tim smiled, hooking his arm through hers.  He peered over at her out of the corner of his eye and realized that she might have been right: the heels _were_ making him look a little short.  He attempted to stand a little bit straighter and asked, “are you ready?”

“Born ready, baby,” she replied, bending her elbow enthusiastically to lock their arms together.  She took the railing and the two of them started to descend the stairs. The first time they had done this, Tim had tried to take the stairs two at a time, completely oblivious to the fact that Steph had been wearing four-inch heels.  They’d managed to perfect their act though, so now they descended slowly, like a prince and princess. 

“Hey boy wonder,” she whispered, a smile plastered on her face to disguise the fact that they were, in fact, speaking.  “Guess what?”

“Don’t call me that,” Tim muttered, elbowing her slightly. “And what?”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and the security guard stepped aside to let them through.  Stephanie turned to him, stared deep into his eyes, and leaned over to whisper in his ear.  “That wink was really sexy,” she said huskily, leaning back and raising an eyebrow at him.

Most of the blood in Tim’s body rushed to his face, and the rest of it rushed to…other places.  _Fuck you, Stephanie_. He thought to himself, hotly. But then considered, **_fuck_** _you, Stephanie._

He watched her strut ahead of him into the party, and right on cue, before he could question his on-again off-again attraction to her anymore, he saw her do a small fist pump and mutter to herself, “I so _killed_ that!”

He smirked. “Hey, Steph!  Don’t forget to use your _inside_ voice!”

  

* * *

 

 

The party was just as boring as they all were. There were the board members that immediately came over to say hello to Tim, hoping to ingratiate themselves with Bruce by somehow managing to impress his son with “when I was your age” stories.  There were the too-old-for-him models and socialites that came over to tell him “how cute he was” and “what a stud he’d be when he was older,” and there were the bigoted Gotham business-men that tried to talk to him while pretending that Stephanie wasn’t even there.

Basically the whole room stank like old-lady perfume and hot air, and Tim had a headache after 45 minutes.

After a particularly boring conversation with “an old friend of ‘Brucie’s,’” Tim leaned over to Stephanie and asked, “Want to get some air?”

She flashed him a wry expression. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said under her breath.  Tim reached for her hand and they walked as fast as they could out of the noisy ballroom.

Wayne Manor could be imposing for a guest, but if you were Timothy Drake Wayne, it was pretty easy to navigate.  It was just a simple matter of turning right once they exited the ballroom, heading down into the front south wing hallway, and opening the third door on the right, and they were in a dark and stuffy little parlor room complete with garden access. 

Tim snatched an afghan from the worn, burgundy camelback sofa, and Steph flung the French doors open wide into the lighted garden. A stone fountain bedecked in melancholy-looking angels gurgled pensively, and Tim and Steph took their usual seat on the stone bench that faced not towards the party, but towards the large expanse of trees, footpaths, and rolling green hills that were the ancestral property of the Waynes.

Stephanie sat down and Tim wrapped the blanket around her bare shoulders, and for a while the two of them sat next to each other in silence, listening to the faint sounds of the party’s laughter and revelry compete with crickets and peepers and wind. 

“So how have you been, Tim?”  Steph said softly, after a while.  “I feel like I never talk to you anymore.”

She wasn’t wrong. With school, weeknights in Gotham, and weekends in Happy Harbor, everyone who he didn’t see in class or in the field had almost disappeared from his life altogether.  Steph would patrol Gotham as Batgirl, but she and him were almost never in the same place at the same time.

“I’m…” Tim considered his state of being while trying to find Orion’s Belt in the night sky. “I’m good,” he decided.  “I’m happy.  I feel useful. Productive.”

“It’s so like you, to want to feel needed,” Steph mused. Tim turned to look at her, wondering if she was being mean, but she continued, a little flustered, “I don’t mean it like it’s a bad thing.  You like helping people. You like doing things for people that only you can do. You like being important, or, like, having an important role.  It’s _good_.” 

Tim’s heart filled.   “Thanks, Steph,” he said, meaning it.  “And here I believed you thought I was a boring loser who takes himself to seriously.”

“I’d never call you _boring_ ,” Steph clarified grinning.  “But the other two…” Tim gave her a sharp elbow in the side. “Ouch!”

“You deserve it.”

“You’re right.  You’re more fun than you give yourself credit for.”  She smiled.  “How are your ‘ _extracurricular_ ’ activities going anyway?  How do you like the team? What do you even call yourselves anyway?”

Tim rolled his eyes.  “I think we’re still Young Justice?  It sounds a little pretentious, but it kind of stuck, but yeah, they’re great.  Bart’s a little inexperienced and hyperactive, but he’s crazy useful and really sweet. Cissie’s tough. Tougher than the rest of us I think.  She tells it like it is and she never lets any of us get away with shit.”

“Sounds like I’d like her.”

“You probably would,” Tim said grinning.  “Then there’s Cassie.  She’s interesting.  High maintenance and very chill at the same time somehow.  She’s used to getting her way, but she’s a lot of fun, very funny.  And Kon…” Tim struggled for how to describe Kon in a positive light.  Kon was one of his best friends, but the only words that came to mind were intense and—

“Hot, hot, hot,” Steph said, nodding to herself.

Tim found himself blushing for some reason.  He was over Steph right? Why was he getting embarrassed about Kon being attractive? Stephanie had taken the words right of his mouth afterall. Tim glared at her. “You know you’re speaking out loud right?” He asked, a little acidly.

“I know this time!” Stephanie cried.  “But he is! Like, have you seen the size of his chest? And how tall he is?”

“That hurts, Steph.”

“Oh shut up, Tim.  I’m over you; you’re over me; let’s not pretend like there’re feelings getting hurt here. Plus, tall is a descriptive adjective, not a judgment on your morality.”

“Those college classes are already making you sound smarter,” Tim deadpanned.

“They’re making me think smarter too, you asshole,” Steph pouted. “And don’t act like you haven’t noticed how pretty Conner is.  Like, have you _seen_ those baby blues? With all those black eyelashes around them? Like, I _wish_ I had eyelashes like that.”

“Okay, okay,” Tim huffed as a gust of wind ruffled his hair. “I get your point.”

“But _do_ you?” Steph prodded, her golden hair shining with the light from the windows behind her. “Admit he’s hot, Tim.”

“I’m not going to do this Steph!” He said, a little shrilly. “I’m not going to help you objectify my teammate.” 

“Oh, come on! Objectify, schmubectify. _Admit_ it. Take the stick out of your butt. Do it, do it, do it!”

Tim sighed and then looked at her significantly, causing Stephanie’s eyes to open wide and corners of her open mouth to curl upward.

Tim pondered for a moment.  “I…” he started to speak, but Steph’s goofy excited face made him chuckle before he could continue, his face beet red. “Well, from time to time, I’ve noticed how, um, _big_ his biceps are. He’s strong, but not too…beefy. You know?”

“ _Yes!”_ Stephanie screeched, practically falling off the bench as she kicked her legs into the air excitedly.  “Ugh! Yes. I know exactly what you mean.”

Tim hurried to add _something_ to his previous statement so that the only thing Steph heard about Kon wouldn’t be about physical characteristics. “But, you know, besides the _eyelashes_ , he’s a really interesting guy.  He’s got a perspective on life that’s totally, completely unique.  He acts cool, and he _is_ cool, but he’s just, like…” Tim trailed off.

“He sounds like the kind of person someone would be lucky to get to know,” Steph said softly.

“You’re right,” Tim agreed.

“And I’d _definitely_ like to get to _know_ him sometime,” Stephanie joked roguishly, and then she burst out into laughter.

As she cackled, Tim glared, stood up and stalked angrily, back towards the manor.

“Aw, don’t be jealous, babe!” Stephanie cried after him, still laughing uproariously. “Won’t you introduce us?!  Pretty please?”


	5. Who You Gonna Call?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart and Kon have a little bit of fun at Tim's expense.

It was just a boring weekend day at base, and although Kon usually valued the time he had to himself, every once in a while he needed the company of his teammates. 

Cassie was always good if Kon needed to be _stimulated_.  She said shocking things.  She had strong opinions.  Every minute you spent with Cassie Sandsmark was interesting.

Cissie was good if Kon needed _advice_. She probably had more “real person” experience than the rest of them, by virtue of not having superpowers and not being a freaking billionaire.  She was honest and straightforward.  Spending time with Cissie felt authentic.

Tim was good if Kon needed to _relax_. Kon felt like himself when he was hanging out with Tim, more of himself that when he was on the farm in Smallville. When he was with Tim he felt like he was human.

Bart was good if Kon needed _excitement_. Bart’s mind worked just as fast as his legs, and because of this, his thoughts went to weird places. He was mischievous and good-natured. Time with Bart was filled with laughter.

On this particular afternoon, Kon could have spent time with _anyone_ simply because he was ignoring his homework. He ventured out of his room and walked down the long, well-lit hallway to the central hub of their base.

Kon walked into the lounge area to see Bart on the long, modern-looking couch, sitting perfectly still.

If Bart wasn’t moving at, like, five billion miles per hour, something was definitely up.

Bart glanced over at him, put a finger to his lips to indicate the necessity for absolute silence, and gestured for Kon to come over. 

“What’s going on?” Kon asked, sounding intrigued despite himself.

“It’s Drake,” Bart whispered, his bright brown eyes fixed to a spot in the far corner of the room.

Tim was seated at the large computer area and was working intensely, his glossy black hair tied in a short ponytail, presumably to keep it out of his face.  The computer screen flashed with different articles being dragged to folders and with databases being filed through at lightning speed.  But the weird part was that Tim’s head was locked on the screen. He didn’t look down at the keyboard, or at the mouse, and despite the fact that his hands were moving furiously, his back and neck were perfectly still.

“How long has he been like that?” Kon whispered as he sat down on the couch next to Bart to watch.

“Like, _three hours_ ,” Bart hissed.  “And he hasn’t moved, like, _once_.  Is this what it’s like being a bat _all the time_? How do you work _that hard_ for _that long_?”

“You don’t know how to do _anything_ for ‘that long,’ Bart,” Kon quipped, mussing the smaller boy’s fiery hair.

“ _Still_ ,” Bart insisted, the joke flying straight over his head.  “This is freaky.” 

He wasn’t wrong.  Tim didn’t even seem to register their conversation, which wasn’t _that_ quiet.  He should have at leased sensed that they were talking about him. 

“We need to see just how zonked out he is,” Bart decided, slamming his fist into his palm determinedly.  “We need to test this.”

Kon smirked a little evilly.  As far as being cool, relaxed, or chill went, Bart was a complete failure. However, when it came to playing pranks, causing trouble, or general mischief making, Bart was the freaking _king_. If he was going to “test” something, chances were that it would generate some form of mayhem.

“I’m in,” Kon grinned, locking eyes with Bart. “What’s the plan?" 

Bart leaped over the back of the couch, as if he was dodging gunfire, and Kon followed suit.  “First things first,” Bart started, his usually playful face serious, “we need to establish a baseline level of stuff he won’t notice.” 

“And then?”

Bart’s lips stretched into a rascally grin.  “And then we incrementally increase the level of crazy in the room.”

Kon nodded, smiling.  “I like the sound of that.”

First, just to see if they weren’t totally crazy about Tim’s level of focus, Bart ordered Kon to casually walk by Tim and say his name. Tim didn’t even blink, the white light of the computer screen glowing on his face. 

After that, Kon ran by, thumping his motorcycle boots as he hurdled past, but Tim just tucked a dark strand of hair behind his ear and narrowed his pale eyes.

“Okay,” Kon said, after they were certain that Tim was just as focused as they thought he was. “What’s next?”

“How do you feel about a little bit of training?”

Kon squinted in confusion for a brief second. _Training? Like, weightlifting or something?_ But then his bright blue eyes opened wide with realization. 

“You mean TTK training?” He asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.   Bart’s self-satisfied smirk was all the answer he needed.

Kon was still trying to get a good hang on his TTK, or tactile telekinesis.  It was the hardest of his superpowers to control by virtue of the fact that, as far as he knew, he was the only one in the world who had it.  

Essentially, he had a force field surrounding his body that he could use to protect himself or make himself stronger.  But, if he really focused, he could manipulate this force field so he could move things around or touch things that were far away. 

Kon thought he saw where Bart was going with this.

“Are you up to it?” Bart asked.

“Just tell me what to do, bro,” Kon replied, extending a hand for a high five.

“Okay, we’ll start small,” Bart said, peering over the back of the couch again at their focused friend.  Tim was still typing diligently, pausing every once in a while to stroke his chin as he thought. 

“Why don’t you just tap on his shoulder to start with?” 

Kon took a deep breath and focused on the energy that surrounded him.  It was a really weird feeling to stretch it out, like the front of his body had just become completely elastic while his ass was suddenly naked. 

Even though he couldn’t see the energy, he could tell where it was just as easily as he could tell where his left leg was right now. He stretched it forward across the thirty or so feet to where Tim was sitting and ever so carefully patted his shoulder. 

Nothing. No reaction.  He receded the force field and shook his head at Bart.

“Tug on his hair,” Bart ordered.

Kon took another deep breath and pushed his energy forward again. Touching Tim’s hair gently would be a little harder and take a little bit more focus.  He wrapped his energy around Tim’s hair. Somehow, when using his TTK, he could feel each of Tim’s hairs much more intensely, and he was struck by just how _soft_ it was. Kon felt himself losing a grip on his TTK, so he put the texture of Tim’s hair out of his mind and pulled it ever so softly to the right.

Bart whistled as the stubby ponytail moved as if attached to an invisible string.  “ _Dude_ that is so cool,” he whispered.

Kon smiled smugly. “What now?”

“Pull out his pony tail.”

Already, Kon was getting a little bit better at this. He grabbed the elastic and pulled gently downward.  Tim’s hair was so silky that the hari band came out really easily. It didn’t hurt that Kon could put a little buffer between Tim’s hair and the elastic so that it would accidentally pull any of his pretty hairs out of his head.

Tim’s hair fell out of the ponytail soft as a sigh; his only reaction was to tuck a stray black tendril of hair behind his pale ear.

Kon couldn’t help sniggering.  “How can you not even know when your hair comes out of a ponytail?”

“I told you man. He’s completely in the _zone_.”

“You’d think that someone trained by the _Bat_ would have, like, hyperactive reflexes or something.”

“Maybe this is one of the few places he feels like he doesn’t have to be Mr. Vigilance,” Bart mused, shrugging.  The answer was delivered casually, but Kon thought that Bart was probably right.

“Should we really be messing with him, then? If this is the only place he feels safe?” Kon asked, not exactly feeling uncomfortable, but feeling like _somebody_ should be speaking for Tim in this situation.

“We’re not going to try to _kill_ him Kon,” Bart retorted, rolling his eyes.  “And besides, if this is the only place he can relax, he should be _relaxing_. Not…doing whatever it is he’s doing.”

Kon couldn’t really argue with that logic, and besides, he still wanted to play with his TTK.

“Hey Bart, check this out,” Kon said, stretching his energy forward and untucking the strand of hair that Tim had just put behind his ear. Immediately Tim reached his left hand back to tuck the hair behind the ear again. And immediately after _that_ Kon untucked it. Bart hard to stifle a guffaw as Tim reached behind his ear _again_.

“He’s running completely on reflexes!” Bart realized, his mouth wide open in a disbelieving grin.  “All of his mental power is going toward whatever the hell it is he’s doing!”

Kon grinned back. “He’s so _weird_!”

“Did you just giggle?” Bart asked incredulously.

“No,” Kon said, his face automatically rearranging itself into its resting apathetic sneer.

Bart just gave him a knowing glance out of the corner of his eye. “Whatever you say, my man. Whatever you say." 

It didn’t take too long for things to start getting weird. Bart was having a lot of fun ordering Kon to use his TTK, and the more Kon used it, the better he seemed to get. Poor Tim.  If he had been aware of what they were doing, he would have been furious.  

Every time Tim let go of the mouse, Kon moved it slightly out of place so that Tim had to feel around to find it again. That loose tendril of hair kept mysteriously, annoyingly falling in front of Tim’s blue-gray eyes, and the shoulder of Tim’s hoodie kept inexplicably falling off his shoulder.

Kon was having way too much fun messing with Tim to stop now. Bart had stopped giving him orders and was now just watching the mayhem that he was creating. It was kind of exhilarating to touch stuff with his TTK.  To watch something across the room move of its own accord.

The thought that he was happy because it was _Tim_ he was touching with his energy flashed through his mind like a stray bolt of lightning: there one second and completely forgotten the next.

Eventually it was time to end the prank.  Things are only funny for so long, and Bart had less patience than most. 

After the signal from Bart, Kon reached forward with his telekinesis one more time.  All the work he had been doing had actually given him a headache, and he was feeling tired…almost delirious.

He reached to Tim and filled his energy up and under the hoodie, up and under his shirt hem.  Kon couldn’t see Tim’s skin, but he could _feel_ it. It was hard with muscle, slightly warm to the touch, and filled with odd little ridges and rises that must have been _scars_.

Tim shivered.  Kon reached around his waist and _squeezed_. 

Tim shot out of his chair like a bullet, spinning around wild-eyed to see he had hugged him _under his fucking shirt_ , only to see _nothing_.

“Who the _hell_?!” He shouted angrily, face red, at the exact moment Kon and Bart burst out laughing.

 

* * *

 

 

Kon and Bart wouldn’t let Tim live his ‘Bat-Focus’ down, and when Cissie and Cassie came downstairs to see what the commotion was all about, the impersonations of Tim’s overreaction were hardly flattering.

Tim refused to look at Kon and Bart with anything but cold disdain for the rest of the day. 

Kon was a little bit bummed that Tim was angry with him, which was just the way Tim wanted it. 

His cheeks weren’t pink because that Ghost Hug felt _fucking awesome_ or anything. No… definitely not.


	6. Game Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Justice uses their down time to get a little frisky.

It was a Sunday night, and as per usual, Happy Harbor was happy.  To kill a little bit of time, the gang decided to have a game night.

Not just _any_ game night though.  Cissie had brought three six packs of cheap beer into the lounge room, slammed the drugstore bags down on the table, and shouted, “Anyone who wants alcohol! Get to the living room NOW!”

Bart had gotten there in a split second.  Tim had been the next to arrive, if only to see what all the noise was about. Cassie had been next, trying to look above it all but failing.

Kon had been last to arrive. He didn’t want to make a big deal of the fact that there was beer in the living room, but actually, booze was more difficult to obtain than he would have thought it would be. When he had tried to low-key purchase something innocuous in Smallville, the shop attendant had just shaken his head and told him to go back home to “sweet old Mrs. Kent”.

_Pah_. “Sweet.” If he had told her that he had tired to buy alcohol, the old lady would have been anything but “sweet.”

Once Kon arrived, Bart’s hand shot forward at light-speed to grab a bottle, but Cissie somehow managed to smack his hand out of the way.

“What was that for?” Bart whined, rubbing his hand and frowning.

“If you all are going to drink my hard-earned alcohol,” Cissie said authoritatively, “then you’re going to drink it _with_ me.”

“Fine,” Kon said, reaching forward.

“ _And_ ,” Cissie added, giving him a fierce look, “ _I_ get to decide what we do.”

“This isn’t a monarchy, Cis,” Tim said, rolling his eyes.

“You’re right, Tim, it’s a democracy based on capitalism.  Capitalism is about supply and demand.  _I_ have the supply of booze, and I _demand_ that you sit down, shut your smart mouth, and do what I say.”

Tim shut his smart mouth right away, but shared a worried look with Bart and Kon.  The boys might have _looked_ the most intimidating, but the girls scared them sometimes. They always seemed to know more about what was going on around them than the boys did.  When Cassie and Cissie were in control of a social situation, everyone with a Y chromosome was bound to be embarrassed.

“Well said, Cis,” Cassie applauded. “What were you thinking of playing?”

The way she responded made Kon think that Cassie already knew what Cissie was thinking of playing.

“Never have I ever,” Cissie said, a spark in her eye as she observed the reactions of her teammates.

“Oh come on!”  Tim cried.  “I can’t think of anything I’d like to play less.  There are only losers in Never Have I Ever…Losers and people who aren’t quite as big of losers as everyone else. You’re either a prude or a slut!”

“All right Tim,” Cissie said, lips pursing.  “Tell us what you are right now. Are you a prude or a slut?  Give me a grocery list of every dirty little thing you’ve ever done.”

Tim glared at Cissie, but Cissie only smiled, knowing she had won.  After a moment, Tim gave up.  “All right, _fine_ ,” he growled, sounding eerily like his mentor.  “Someone just give the three-year-old the rules.”

Cassie chuckled and directed her gaze at Kon, whose cheeks had gone a little pink about the (admittedly accurate) assumption that he didn’t know how Never Have I Ever was played.

It was hard to know what kids your age played when you spent your childhood in a test tube.

“It’s really easy, Kon,” Cassie said, tucking her gold-spun hair behind her ear.  Basically, you say something that you’ve never done, and if someone else _has_ done it, they have to drink.  Usually the stuff you bring up is, like, sexual in nature.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Kon mumbled.

Bart ran to the kitchen to find the bottle opener, and popped everyone’s bottle caps before they even had time to say “please.”

Kon sipped on the cheap beer and tried not to gag.  He glanced around the room to see if anyone else looked disgusted.  The girls looked totally fine, Bart looked a little grossed out, and Tim _appeared_ fine, but Kon could tell by the tightness near his eyes that he was trying to disguise his reaction to the unpleasant taste.  He smirked.

“All right!” Bart chirped, after swallowing his first gulp of beer faster than everyone else. “I’ll go first. Should we get the big one out of the way?”

“Working backwards?” Cissie asked, chewing on her cheek quizzically.  “I’ll allow it. Proceed, Bart.”

“Okay,” Bart said, taking a deep breath.  “Never have I ever had sex.”

Everyone looked around the circle, expecting to see a majority of them to be drinking their beer, but the only one with the beer to her lips was Cissie.

“Seriously, Cis?” Cassie asked. “Who?”

“No one in the super circuit, that’s for damn sure,” Cissie said, closing her eyes sagely.

“And what’s wrong with this _circuit_?” Kon asked, arching a dark eyebrow.

“That self-satisfied smirk is exactly what is wrong with supers,” Cissie retorted. “You all think you’re God’s Gift to Women! Give me a softer, more humble boy any day of the week.”

“That’s just because you’ve never been with these harder, more arrogant guys,” Bart said grinning a little lecherously.

Cassie rolled her eyes. “And you haven’t been with anybody. Give it a rest.”  As Tim and Kon laughed at Bart, Cissie considered what she could say that someone else might have done.

After everyone had quieted down just a little bit, she said, “All right. Never have I ever eaten anyone out.”

Again, everyone peered around the circle, and again, only one person had a beer bottle to his lips.

Tim’s cheeks flushed a little bit as he gulped town a few swigs of his beer.  Bart’s mouth gaped open, but Cissie and Cassie just nodded at each other.

“What are you two agreeing about over there?” Tim asked, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Nothing, we just called it a while ago. That’s all,” Cassie said, smirking at him.  “No way you dated Stephanie that long without doing _anything_.”

“To be honest, I’m actually kind of surprised you two didn’t, like, bang,” Cissie said, twirling the hair at the end of her pale ponytail.  “Not that that’s a problem or anything.”

“You any good?” Kon asked, giving Tim a meaningful look.

Kon could see Tim’s cheeks burning, but his teammate puffed his chest out nonetheless.  “I’ve been told that I’m pretty good,” he admitted.

Cassie considered him, and Tim’s cheeks grew even hotter.  “I can see that,” she said, smiling.

Bart coughed loudly from across the circle, Kon laughed, and Tim had to take another swig of beer to try to compose himself and think of something that he hadn’t done.

“Never have I ever sucked a dick,” Tim said quickly, obviously eager to get the attention off of him. The girls on either side of him took big sips of their beer.

“No surprises there,” Bart said, earning him an eye roll from Cassie.

“Anyone we know, Cas?” Kon asked, genuinely interested.  He had never thought of Cassie as inexperienced, but she was also usually an open book about her personal life, unlike Cissie, who liked to play things a little closer to the chest.  He kind of figured that Cassie would have told him if she was interested in someone.

In response, Cas just sipped a little more on her beer and shared a covert little smile with Cissie. “I don’t kiss and tell,” she said softly, arching a yellow eyebrow. “Now what haven’t I done that you guys have…?” She traced her jaw line with a pink-enameled finger until she smiled a wicked grin.  “Never Have I Ever…used a sex toy.”

“Wait, Bart, what?” Cissie exclaimed, about to take a gulp of her beer.  Bart was already chugging his with enthusiasm. 

“On myself!” Bart explained excitedly. “Guys, sex toys get freaking awesome in the future. Everybody has them! For instance there’s this one, like, flexible ring thing that goes—”

“Okay, _enough_ ,” Tim said, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger in frustration. “Don’t spoil it for us, Bart.”

“Suit yourself,” Bart shrugged, guzzling a little bit more of his beer.

“All right, you’re up, Kon,” Cassie said, waggling her eyebrows at him. He could feel the eyes of all of his teammates on him waiting for his statement.  What should he say?  He could lie about stuff, or he could come clean…

He glanced over at Tim, who gave him an encouraging little smile.

“Okay,” he said slowly, staring at a particularly interesting letter on the beer bottle in front of him. He could already feel his cheeks growing ruddy with the blood that was rushing there.

“Is it really that hard for you to think of something you haven’t done?” Cissie asked, smiling at him. “Come on, spit it out! I guarantee I’ve done it Kon, and I guarantee someone else here hasn’t. We’re all friends here.”

“Yeah,” Tim said from his right. “It’s a judgment free zone, man. All this ‘never’ stuff is probably going to change in the next few years anyway. No shame.”

“Okay, okay,” Kon said, feeling reassured but acting annoyed. “Fine.” He took a deep breath and said, rushed, “Never Have I Ever kissed a girl.

The others in the circle looked at him in disbelief.

“Have you kissed a guy?” Bart asked, breaking the silence.

“No!” Kon said, quickly. “Never Have I Ever kissed anyone. Never Have I Ever been kissed. There. I said it. “ He glanced around at the still-shocked faces of his teammates. “I didn’t know you guys would be so freaking _horrified_.”

“Honestly, the shock is compliment,” Cissie said after a second, looking thoughtful.  “You’re just so _hot_ , Kon. I would’ve thought the Smallville girls would have eaten you _alive_.”  Kon’s cheeks grew about five shades redder when he realized that Cissie King-Jones had just told him he was hot.

“Any particular reason you haven’t made any moves?” Tim asked, sounding as clinical as a psychiatrist. “Afraid of a blueberry pie in the face?”

Kon shot him an annoyed look. _Damn that Aillee Mitchell_. “No. It’s just…” he paused, trying to think about how best to phrase his thoughts. “Look, I spent my entire ‘childhood’ in a test tube. I’m just now becoming a normal person.  I haven’t had a lot of practice being _charming_. I haven’t had a lot of time to _think_ about stuff like this.  And like, I just don’t feel comfortable around anyone except you all. What if I get so… excited I, like, break their spine or something?”

Bart gave Kon’s shoulder a little squeeze. “Dude, that’s like, actually really sweet.”

“Shut up, Bart.”

“No seriously!” Bart replied ardently.

“Let me get this straight.” Cassie said, turning to look him straight in the eye.  “Part of the reason you never kissed a girl is because you’re afraid you’ll break her?”

Kon considered this. “Partly, yeah.”

“You won’t break me,” she said huskily, her eyes suddenly going from friendly to… something else, and in an instant, in a split second that only Bart could have noticed, Cassie’s lips were on his.

Her hands wrapped around his jaw to coax his mouth towards hers. Their faces bumped together kind of hard, although, as Cassie had just said, neither of them was going to break. After a small moment, Kon just let it happen. Cassie’s lips were soft and tasted good…like cinnamon gum and the cheap beer they were drinking.

And kissing felt _good_.

After a few seconds, Cassie let go of him, and Kon could finally hear Bart behind him screaming, “OH MY GOD! OH MY CRASHING GOD!”

Cassie just sat in front of him with that yellow eyebrow arched again. Kon was too stunned to say anything. Kon was too stunned to _think_ anything.

Tim and Cissie just stared at each other, jaws agape, each with two eyeballs about to fall right out of their heads. 

“That was surprising,” Tim whispered to Cissie.

“That was surprisingly, _hot_!” Cissie whispered back, elbowing Tim in the side.  “Kon’s a fucking natural, huh?”

Tim glanced uncertainly at his laughing, red-faced best friend.  That kiss _had_ been pretty hot, and Cassie hadn’t done _all_ the work. Was it hot because of Cassie, because of Kon, or because of both of them?“

“He’s Superboy,” he said instead in an apathetic tone. “I guess even his lips are super powered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a game of Never Have I Ever after Chapter 2 right? Well here it is! (Also, don't worry guys, this is definitely still a TimKon fic.) As usual, if you have any questions or need any clarification please let me know by commenting or messaging me at my tumblr, which is batbrood.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Show and Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kon performs a little _inspection_ on Tim.

It had been a very rough afternoon.  The team had faced Plasmus in a no-holds-barred, incredibly high-risk battle in downtown Happy Harbor.  He had been hired by somebody to raid some chemical compounds from the pharmaceutical company in town, and, presumably as a gift, he had been given some sort of electricity de-fuser that had prevented them from going about their normal plan of attack.

The fact that Plasmus was basically a giant, mud-brown, gunk monster in combination with the mucky excess of the chemical reactions in the plant made it an icky fight, and by the time the team had rounded up Plasmus using an unlikely combination of Bart’s super speed combined with Cissie’s own goo-based trick arrows, they were all disgusting.

They had trudged, exhausted, back into the hideout and had booked it towards the showers without saying a word to each other. 

Tim, for his part, was feeling especially sore and frustrated. Pretty much everything he had done against Plasmus had been ineffectual, and he had spent most of the battle sprinting, dodging, rolling, and generally working his ass off just trying to stay out of the line fire. 

Tim stepped into his black boxer-briefs and winced as his quadriceps throbbed angrily. He let his whole tired body fall down onto his mattress with a _whump_ and covered his face with his towel.  _I’m not even going to be able to_ move _tomorrow_ , he thought to himself with excess self-pity. 

Not for the first time, he wished that he had even one tenth of the power that Cassie, Bart, and Kon had.  Although they were winded after the fight, Cassie and Kon had stood up straight and tall and walked to the showers energetically, and Bart had actually _run_ to them.  Tim and Cissie had just looked at each other with exhausted, slack-jawed faces and then practically crawled to the sweet embrace of warm falling water and good-smelling shampoo.

Every time he came back from a battle he had to spend about sixty minutes in the shower washing guck out of his tresses. Tim ran an absent finger through one of the locks of black hair that rested behind him on his comforter and casually contemplated shaving all his hair off when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” groaned Tim from under his towel.

The door clicked and swung open. A couple of heavy booted footsteps sounded over the wood floor.  _So it’s Kon then_.

“Hey bro.  Finally out of the shower, I see?”  Tim felt the towel start to lift off his face and chest, and he squinted as the light streamed in from the window behind Kon’s smirking face.

Tim sat up, grabbed his towel, and placed it on top of his wet hair. “I’m gonna go bald.  I don’t need you and Bart making fun of how long I stay in the shower.”

Kon laughed heartily and sat down on his bed next to him. “Sorry, but it’s not me and Bart who’re the problem.  Cis and Cas were out way before you were.”

Tim felt the color drain out of his face and his eyes grow wide. “No way.”

“Yeah way.”

“ _How_?”

Kon smirked again.  “You got me, bro. They have some sort of supernatural girl magic hair-washing powers. You should ask for some tips from them. Or maybe ask Cissie for a demonstration?”

Tim laughed and pushed the unbidden dirty thoughts out of his brain. “Don’t be a dick!” He shouted, punching Kon on the shoulder.

“I’m just joking!” Kon laughed, trying to move away from Tim’s punches and failing. “Who cares if you take long showers? Not me! At least you smell good!”

“That’s right!” Tim shouted triumphantly as Kon put his big hands in front of his head in surrender.  “You don’t get hair as nice as mine by being lazy!”  He whipped the towel off of his head and started to move towards Kon with it, but stopped when he saw a look of alarm on Kon’s face. “What?”

Kon didn’t say anything at first, as if Tim’s words had to make their way through a fog to reach his brain.  He was gazing fixedly at a mark on Tim’s shoulder, and then at the rest of his chest.

“ _What is it_?”  Tim repeated, starting to feel a little hot.

“Oh!” Kon muttered in surprise, coming back to himself.  He scratched the back of his head.  “It’s just…I knew I felt...you have a lot of scars, that’s all.”

“Uh, yeah. I guess I do.” Tim said, looking down at his chest and arms.  He _did_ have a lot of scars.  More than he had realized.  It was hard to notice when he received them just a little at a time, but now there were far too many to count.  Little pale ridges of knife slices ran up and down his arms in a messy crosshatch pattern. There were three bullet hole marks on his chest and abdomen where piercing rounds had gone straight through his armor and burrowed shallowly into his skin.  Ugliest of all was the huge rippled circles on both his front _and_ back where that rusty iron spear had gone straight through from one side to the other.

The room was silent for a few moments as Tim investigated himself and Kon looked on. 

“This one looks especially gnarly,” Kon said quietly, pointing at the thick ridge of scar tissue on Tim’s shoulder that originally had attracted his attention. “How’d you get it?”

Tim tucked his hair behind his ear and peered over his shoulder. “That one? I think that was from Ra’s al Ghul, actually.  He used the sword he’s always carrying around and tried to chop my head off after I destroyed his hideout.”

Kon winced. “ _Shit_ man.”

“Ah, it’s no big deal,” Tim said, looking away. “I kind of asked for it. That was definitely part of my smartass phase. He probably wouldn’t have been _that_ ruthless if I hadn’t run my mouth.”

They both chuckled. “I mean, he didn’t have to try and chop off your head, but you _were_ a little shit back then,” Kon admitted.  “What about those?” He asked, reaching around Tim’s front to point to his opposite arm.

The scars in question were a series of perfect circles wrapping their way around Tim’s right bicep and forearm. Tim smiled almost fondly. “I don’t even think I felt those.  They’re a gift from Poison Ivy.  She held me in her hideout in the park with some other dudes for three days before Batman mounted the counter attack. She had these thorny vines that she grabbed people with, but I was too head-over-heels to feel them go in at all.”

Kon nodded sagely. “She’s pretty hot isn’t she?”

“Yeah, but it’s the sex pheromones that _really_ do it.  I mean, she got _Superman_ under her spell once, so I doubt I was any trouble for her at all.  I can’t remember, but Dick tells me I enjoyed it.”

“Kinky.”

“Tell me about it.”

“How about this?” Kon said, pointing to a thick horizontal gash on Tim’s upper left inner thigh, a couple inches below the hem of his boxer briefs.

Tim’s heart dropped just a little bit, and the smile froze on his face. After a second, Kon started spitting out hurried apologies, but Tim shook him off.

“It’s all right,” he said, peering at the scar again.  “That ones from the Joker. He used a butcher knife. Kept cutting closer and closer to the femoral artery. Slow and painful. He laughed while he did it.”

“Geez Tim,” Kon muttered. He reached out a hand to touch the scar, but stopped himself short. “That’s… _terrible_ , I mean—“

“It’s a hazard of the job, right?” Tim said, trying to sound bright but not quite succeeding.  He looked hesitantly over at Kon, but was surprised when his blue eyes were already looking right into his.

It was like Kon was unreachable again. Tim could tell by looking in his eyes that he was thinking about something very hard, but he couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking about. He didn’t have the will to ask Kon what it was.

“I’m sorry…” Kon whispered as they sat there staring at each other.

There was this feeling that told him that he didn’t need to respond, that he _shouldn’t_ respond, but eventually the atmosphere was too much for him to bear.

“It’s fine,” he said with a smile, shattering the tension that he hadn’t noticed appear in the room.  “Besides, I’m sure you have some pretty nasty battle scars of your own.”

Kon blinked. “Who me? Nah man, that’s why I was so curious about yours.” He reached behind to the back of his neck and tugged his black t-shirt over his head.

Tim peered at him.  Of course, he had seen Kon shirtless a hundred times before now, but, stupidly, this was the first time he realized that Kon’s skin was _perfect_. There was not a single blemish, scab, or scar anywhere on him, despite all of the punches he had taken. 

“Invulnerability,” Kon smirked, playfully flexing his pecs.  “It comes in handy!”

Tim couldn’t help but compare his own pale, marred body to Kon’s tanned, smooth one. “I’m jealous,” he admitted.

“Don’t be.  Your scars are badass. It just means you’ve been through some shit and come out stronger.”

“So have you!”

“Yeah, but I still look like I did the day I popped out of the ol’ test tube,” Kon smiled.  “I’ve always thought scars were sweet.  They make you look tougher.  More intimidating.”

“I need all the help I can get.  I’m definitely letting Batman down in the scary department.”

“In that case, I could probably use some scars too,” Kon admitted.

Tim glared at a particularly nasty-looking gash on his upper bicep. “I’d be happy to give you one of mine,” he snarked.

“Can I pick one?” Kon asked arching an eyebrow.

“Uh, sure?”

“Then I want the big square shaped one on your chest.”

 _Wait, **square** shaped?_ “Where?” Tim asked looking down for the mystery scar.

“Here!” Kon shouted flicking Tim in the nose. 

“Asshole!” Tim laughed, grabbing the nearest object—his towel—and trying to smother Kon with it.  He had never known Kon to play tricks on anyone.. It must have been an unfortunate side effect of hanging out with Bart.

Kon fell backward under the barrage of Tim’s punches and the pull of the damp towel. “It was just a joke!” He managed to get out through peals of laughter, causing Tim to smile too. “I’m sorry! Stop! That hurts!”

“Stop lying! ‘Invulnerability comes in handy,’ remember?” Tim barked at him, grabbing a pillow from beside them and swinging it hard at Kon’s face. “It comes in handy for me too!”

“Oof,” Kon grunted, swinging a thick arm around and shoving Tim off of him roughly. “You’re lucky Plasmus was so tough today,” he panted, recovering from his laugher. “Or I _definitely_ wouldn’t have let you hit me for that long.”

There was a cough from the other end of the room. Tim looked up to see Cissie and Cassie smirking evilly.

“Well, it certainly looks like you two are having fun,” Cassie said, raising a golden eyebrow.

“Huh? How long have _you_ two been here?” Kon asked dumbly as the blood drained from Tim’s face.

“It’s not—” Tim stuttered.  “We weren’t—”

“Well, it _looked_ like two pretty shirtless boys rolling around on a bed,” Cissie said matter-of-factly.

“Funny, Cis. That’s what it looked like to me too!” Cassie laughed, tossing her golden hair.

“Mind you, I‘m certain none of us would have a problem with you two, ” Cissie remarked, casually observing the shape of the nails on her left hand. “You know, if this became a regular thing.  Just as long as your ‘playing’ didn’t interrupt the business side of things...”

Kon rolled over and put his beet read face in Tim’s pillow.  “Oh my god…”

“Very _accommodating_ of you, Kon, to let Tim hit that for so long.” Cassie said, winking.

Tim groaned and put the towel back over his face as the girls kept making quips. He and Kon were never going to live this down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for continuing to read this fic! I know that it's a slow burn, but I'm having fun writing it. There are some more *serious* plot points coming up, so stay tuned!


	8. Dischord and Harmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in Smallville has Kon thinking introspectively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to give a notice that this chapter deals with a little bit of homophobia. None of our main characters think this way of course, but I just wanted to give a heads up for anyone who might be negatively affected by the subject. I tried to deal with it as sensitively and realistically as I could, but if you feel uncomfortable reading this, by all means, please skip! 
> 
> Also--there are some original characters. Don't worry about it :)

As hard as Kon tried, he was finding it more and more difficult to hate Smallville. If he had been like most of his classmates, never venturing beyond the county line, his feelings might have been different, but spending his free time in Happy Harbor had given him the best of both worlds. 

Happy Harbor was fun and exciting, and he had people there that understood him better than he could probably understand himself.  Not only that, but he could really be _super_ there. In fact, he was expected to be.

But Smallville was Conner’s _own_ place, separate from Cissie and Cassie and Bart and even Tim.  His room in the farmhouse was his haven, and the skies over the cornfields were his playground. He could _relax_ here. He didn’t worry as much about being the weird clone boy from the test tube that didn’t understand normal teenage things.

Truth be told, he was assimilating pretty well.  There were some things that he was still a little naïve about, but he had a great poker face to hide his ignorance, and the Internet could tell him pretty much anything he wanted to know. He felt more confident now, and for the first time ever, Conner Kent, not just Kon-El, was gaining some new friends.

Smallville High School was pretty small. There were only about 200 kids in his junior class, so now that it was Spring, he had met pretty much everyone.  They hadn’t liked him at first, but he was starting to feel a bit more at home.  He had started sitting with the football players at lunch after their captain had approached him about trying out for the team next year.  Obviously he couldn’t play, but some of the juniors on the team had actually turned out to be pretty cool, and because of them, school didn’t seem like as much torture anymore.

As the end of the year approached, all anyone could talk about was the Smallville Senior/Junior prom. It was only about two weeks away now, and in the classrooms, at the cafeteria, and on the practice fields, all anyone could talk about was who had asked whom, what dresses were popular, which underclassmen had been invited, who had the cutest “promposal,” et cetera. 

At first, when the commotion started in late March, Kon had considered himself above it all. But even the coolest guys on the football team were talking about which after party to go to, which girls they wanted to ask, and where they were finding their tuxes.

“Clark went to Prom,” Pa Kent had mused when Kon had asked him about it.  “And as I recall, he had a fun time.” Kon figured that Clark would have liked prom, but somehow hearing it from Pa Kent made it real, and now Kon was seriously considering it.  The problem was that he didn’t have anyone that he wanted to ask.  There were plenty of pretty girls at Smallville High, but none that Kon was that fired up about.  He also wasn’t certain who would say yes if he asked.   He felt _pretty_ confident, but how could he be _sure_?

These were the thoughts that consumed his mind at lunch one afternoon in late April as he sat at the lunch table with some of the football players.

“The best after party _by far_ is going to be at Will Pierce’s farm,” Aaron Akin was saying.  “I heard from one of the other seniors on the team that both his parents are going to be out of town taking that big-ass steer to the fair the next county over.”

“Are you sure?” Garrett Hall asked skeptically.  His hazel eyes narrowed, causing his normally amiable face to look stern. As the starting running back, he was probably the most talented of the junior football players, but his small stature kept him humble.  He was one of the friendlier guys that Kon had met at school, and definitely the most talkative.

“What do you mean?” Aaron asked a little defensively.  He was a big, strong boy, a starting offensive lineman, with a thick, burly, freckled face that perfectly matched the rest of his body.

“Well, have you ever _been_ to Pierce’s house?” Garrett wanted to know.  “I have, and it’s tiny, _and_ it’s far away.”

“So _what_ if it’s a bit of a drive? And small spaces make good parties.”

“All that aside, what about Addison’s party?  That’s the one everyone’s talking about.  He’s thrown the best parties _all year_.”

“Yeah, he has. And I know for a fact we’ve all been invited.” Marcus Poole added.  He was a quiet kid, but he was as tall as Kon and was handsome to boot. Playing safety had made him wiry and strong, and the girls at school often talked about his kind-looking, long-lashed eyes and pretty pink lips.

“Wait, are we?” Hugh Hatten asked, holding up a tanned hand to silence the argument at the table. “Conner, were you invited? I’ve never seen you at his place before.”

Kon nodded. “Yeah I’m invited,” Kon said, speaking for the first time all lunch. 

“Conner I haven’t heard you talk about prom at _all_ ,” said Garrett.  “Are you even going?”

It sounded like an accusation, but if Kon was being far, he hardly went to _any_ thing, so it was only fair that the boys would be skeptical.  “I’m thinking about it,” he replied coolly, taking a sip of his Gatorade.

“Oh, he’s _thinking_ about it,” Aaron said rolling his eyes. “That’s Conner. Too cool for everything.”

“Not _everything_.” Kon smirked.  “Just most stuff.”

“’Carnival’ _is_ kind of a lame theme,” Hugh said, thinking aloud. He was the second string quarterback, and was likely to start for the team next year.  His strawberry blonde hair provided little contrast to his bronzed skin, which he earned by helping his family in their wheat and sunflower fields pretty much every day. “But it is Kansas after all.”

“Who _cares_ about the _theme_?” Aaron said loudly. “All that matters is the party you go to and your _date_.”

“Well, I’m taken care of,” Garrett said laughing.  “I asked Hanna Stevenson last night.”

“And she said _yes?_ ” Aaron asked in disbelief.

“Duh,” Kon muttered, rolling his eyes and sharing a significant glance with Hugh.  “He said he was taken care of didn’t he?”

“It’s just…you _dog_! She’s practically the hottest girl in the whole school!”

“Yeah and she’s pretty cool too,” Garrett said proudly as Hugh clapped him on the back in congratulations. 

“How did you ask her?” Kon questioned. He was curious.  If he was actually going to ask someone, he might need some tips.

“I went to her house last night and put a whole bunch of candles in her driveway that spelled out ‘Prom?’ in big letters.  She liked it, but it was her _mom_ who loved it.” The boys chuckled as Garrett sighed.  “I think her mother’s more excited than she is, unfortunately.”

Marcus put a reassuring hand on Garrett’s shoulder.  “As long as you show her a good time it’ll be fine,” he said smiling.

“Easy for you to say,” Aaron said frowning.  “You’re just taking Mary, aren’t you? That’s a guaranteed yes.”

“Just because she’s my girlfriend doesn’t mean I shouldn’t ask her,” Marcus replied wisely after taking a bite of his grilled cheese sandwich.  “She’s going to say yes, but if anything, I have _more_ pressure to ask her in a cool way.  Otherwise, she’ll think I don’t care.”

“How _thoughtful_ of you,” Aaron said acidly.  “But it doesn’t sound harder to me.”

Aaron had been acting a little aggressive all lunch period, and Kon decided to change the subject before Aaron could continue to pick his fight.  “How about you Hugh? Do you have someone you want to ask?”

Hugh looked at Kon, his expression a little shocked.  “I don’t think so,” he said, his ruddy cheeks turning pinker. “At least, not yet. You?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet either,” Kon said.  “But I might ask this girl I know from Gateway City to go as friends.”

“As friends?” Aaron scoffed. “Why would a girl from the _West Coast_ fly to _Smallville_ , to go to prom _as friends_?”

It sounded like a lot of trouble, true, but for Wonder Girl it was definitely no big deal. Kon shrugged. “Her family owns a private jet,” he explained, leaving out the word ‘ _invisible_.’

Garrett and Marcus raised their eyebrows, impressed, and Aaron slapped Kon on the back. “Snagged yourself a rich bitch, eh Kent?” He laughed.  “Maybe you can make the conversion while she’s here.” 

Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply in exasperation as Kon shot Aaron a dirty look. “It’s not like that,” he said, trying to forget the kiss he and Cassie had shared. He liked Cassie a _lot_ , but he didn’t want to make any sort of _conversion_. Plus, Aaron was walking a thin fucking line calling her a bitch.

“ _Sure_ it isn’t,” Aaron said, rolling his eyes.   “Anyways, we got off topic. We can’t go to Addison’s party. I promise you Pierce’s will be better.”

At this point, Kon didn’t want to go anywhere with Aaron, and he felt like the other guys at the table were starting to feel the same way. Marcus set his water bottle down on the table roughly and glared. “Well I’m going to need more than a promise, Aaron,” he said, his usually quiet voice taking on a threatening tone. “Because Mary wants to go to Addison’s, and frankly so do I.”

“Well we _can’t_ ,” Aaron said fiercely.  “ Don’t you know who he’s invited?”

“Who?” Garrett asked. The rest of the boys looked curious, and Kon’s interest was piqued as well.

“ _Anthony_ _Parker_ ,” Aaron hissed. “I’m not going to the same party he’s going to.”

Anthony Parker was a dark-haired boy from their year who played for the baseball team.  He was a talented second-baseman, though not quite good enough to attract the attention of scouts.  He was in more advanced classes than Kon, so they didn’t really know each other all that well, but all of their interactions had been normal, even pleasant.  “And _why_ again do you care if he’s going to this party?” Kon asked sharply.  “He’s chill.”

“Don’t you know who he asked to prom? _Wyatt Evans_.”

“So?” Kon growled, glaring.

“So?! Wyatt’s freaked out! Anthony’s a fucking _queer!_ ”

“Christ, Aaron,” Marcus muttered, covering his eyes with a long-fingered hand. Garrett was staring fixedly at a noodle of macaroni on his plate. 

Kon was feeling livid, and didn’t care that Aaron’s voice was carrying across the cafeteria. “How is that any business of yours?” He snarled.  He could feel the edges of his heart calcify.  He was going to skip a party just because someone in their year liked boys? What was his fucking deal?

“It’s my business,” Aaron hissed, perhaps realizing that people at their table were starting to stare, “Because I’m not going to go to Addison’s party just so I can get hit on by some dude.”

Kon started to open his mouth to retort, but Hugh Hatten spoke first. “If girls think you’re ugly, Akin, what makes you think that a boy will see anything different?” he asked frigidly.  His face was completely devoid of any emotion but disdain.  Kon stared as Hugh picked up his tray and stood up. “You’re pathetic,” he said, shooting one last glare at Aaron before walking straight out of the cafeteria.

Marcus, Garrett, and Kon stared after him for a moment in silence.  People at nearby tables seemed to sense that something dramatic had just gone down and stared at him too.  Aaron Akin started to laugh uncomfortably. 

“Jesus,” Aaron whistled. “Hatten sure is sensitive today, huh?”

Kon was up and out of the cafeteria faster than you could say “speeding bullet.”

  

* * *

 

 

The last half of the day consisted of the longest two and a half hours of Kon’s life. He couldn’t stop thinking about the blow up at the lunch table and about the things that Aaron had said. Kon knew what being gay meant, and he knew that some people weren’t fans of it for whatever reason, but he couldn’t imagine one of those people being someone that he called his friend. Aaron wasn’t _normally_ a bad person.  Sure, he could be a little insensitive, but he also made Kon laugh; he’d asked Kon to be project partners when no one else had; he had been _kind_ to Kon.  So then why was he acting so cruel?

Kon hardly heard a single word any of his teachers said, and when the final bell rang, he walked out of the classroom like a zombie, leaving the school and bypassing his locker. He wasn’t gong to do his homework tonight anyway. 

Kon started walking down the long, straight, dirt road towards the Kent farm like he always did after school, but today he walked a little slower than usual, despite the spring fragrance of the air and pale blue of the sky, which usually made him feel so energized. _Do I know anyone who’s gay?_ He thought to himself as he kicked a pebble off of the road.  _Does it really matter all that much?  Am I even straight?_ He had kissed Cassie, sure, but he’d more than once admired boys too.  His friend Marcus was tall and handsome and somehow exuded _grace_ in every movement. Hugh Hatten had such a straightforward face and spoke so honestly that Kon always felt endeared to him.  And then with Tim…

Kon felt his face flush as he remembered wrestling with Tim on his bed, and then a whole slew of other memories resurfaced unbidden; examining his body for scars, rooftop games of soccer, late night talk sessions, the hardness of his body as he held him when they flew, the feeling he had when he thought he’d let Tim fall to his death…

Kon had been too busy looking for a girl to like to consider that he might like boys. Tim was definitely his closest friend, but some of the things he had felt for him weren’t exactly _friendly_.  His heart had been thumping so loud when Tim was on top of him that he was _certain_ Tim had _heard_ it. Was it possible that he _liked_ Tim that way?

Kon grunted aloud and kicked another pebble.  He was confused now.  He had never tried to define the limits of who he thought was attractive until this very second, and it was too overwhelming for him to process.   He wanted to launch himself into the air and fly around until his mind was clear as the Kansas sky was today. He was so lost in his head that he almost missed someone calling his name.

“Conner!” Shouted someone from behind him.  There was the rumble of an old engine and the crunch of gravel accompanying the voice. “ _Conner_!”

Kon turned around to see a familiar, tanned, square face driving down the road.  “Hugh?”

“Do you need a ride?” Hugh asked, pulling his truck up next to Kon.

The truthful answer was, of course, no.  But once Hugh’s face had come into view, Kon realized that being alone was the last thing he needed.  “Yeah sure,” he replied after a beat.  He walked around to the passenger door and hauled himself into the cab of Hugh’s old red Ford pickup.

“Do you know the way?” Kon asked as Hugh shifted the car into drive. 

“I’m pretty sure,” Hugh replied.  Country music was playing on the radio, and the two of them lapsed into a silence that was almost comfortable.

“I wanted to thank you,” Hugh said after a song finished and the radio DJ cut to commercial. “For sticking up for Anthony.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” Kon replied, feeling a little bit of his earlier righteous indignation resurface.  “Aaron was totally out of line saying that.  Who cares if Anthony likes guys?”

“Unfortunately a lot of people,” Hugh sighed, keeping his eyes trained on the straight road in front of them.  “Aaron’s not the only one who feels that way.  Anthony’s probably gonna have to quit the baseball team. A lot of the guys don’t want him around anymore.”

Kon felt his heart drop. “That’s not fair.”

Hugh smiled at Kon a little sadly.  “You’re a pretty tolerant sort of dude, aren’t you Conner?”

Kon felt a burning sort of pride as he thought of the people in his life who had taught him everything he knew.  Cassie, Cissie, and Bart. Tim. Clark. Mr. and Mrs. Kent. “I’d just like to think that I know the difference between right and wrong.”

“I don’t think it’s right and wrong that’s the problem here,” Hugh mused.  “If these guys could just get out of this small town they might understand, but the way we live here has been the same for too long. No one’s willing to even think about changing their minds.”

“Well someone has to be the one to do it,” Kon said emphatically, slamming his fist into his palm.

“You’re right,” Hugh said, finally taking his eyes off the road and flitting them over to Kon. “Which is why _I_ asked Anthony to prom after school today.”

Kon’s jaw dropped. From everything Hugh had ever let on, he was definitely into girls, but considering Kon had just been questioning his own sexuality, he realized that he probably shouldn’t have assumed. “Do you like him?” He asked.

“Not like that. I’m pretty certain I’m straight,” Hugh said seriously.  “But you’re right. Anthony doesn’t deserve this, and it just seemed like the right thing to do.” Hugh flipped on his blinker and turned down the long straight gravel driveway leading to the Kent farm.

“Is there anything _I_ can do?”  Kon asked feeling something tugging at his heartstrings. He wondered to himself if he as a superhero had ever done anything as brave as these two small town boys from his Podunk high school. “To help you? And Anthony?”

Hugh sighed. “I wish you could force people to change their minds, but you can’t. They have to change on their own.” Kon opened the car door and hopped out. “People respect you more than you know, Conner,” Hugh added, his small, earnest eyes showing the faintest of smiles. “If you keep sticking up for Anthony, people will listen.”

“You’re doing something really heroic here, Hatten!” Kon yelled, as Hugh and his car started rolling back towards the road. 

A tan hand waved out of the window and the pickup truck kicked up a cloud of dust. The birds were chirping, the sky was clear, Ma Kent’s bluebells cheerfully swayed in the spring breeze, and Kon was absolutely, positively certain that his heart had never felt more conflicted.


	9. Drake. Tim Drake.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim goes to prom!

Not for the first time in his life, Tim questioned just what he could have done to end up in a situation like _this_ one.  Nothing could have lead to a situation like this except the universe’s pure hatred of him and the uncanny ability of the Gotham criminal element to practically _feed_ on coincidence.

How else could he explain the bomb he had just found bolted to one of the columns of the hotel where his freaking _High School Prom_ was being held?

The faint ticking of the clock sounded in the air as Cissie whistled beside him.  “ _Shit_ ,” she murmured, sounding almost impressed.

Tim sighed, feeling a little bit world-weary.  “Well,” he said, trying to take this recent development in stride.  “You got any spare wire cutters handy?” 

 

* * *

 

 

This whole Prom Debacle had started last Saturday when Kon had flown into home base wild-eyed and carrying a hand-picked bouquet of Ma Kent’s bluebells. After completely ignoring everyone’s questions about his strange behavior, he had invited Cassie to prom. 

This had pissed Tim off for exactly two reasons.

First, Kon had explicitly told him less than a month ago that he would sooner go on a father-son fishing trip with Lex Luthor than go to Smallville’s prom.  Tim knew that was an exaggeration, but it was a pretty damn forceful one.  When had Kon changed his mind?  _Why_ had Kon changed his mind?

Secondly, this conversation had happened immediately after Tim revealed to Kon that he _himself_ had been thinking of going to prom. To which Kon had replied, “Ha! I would sooner go on an father-son fishing trip with Lex Luthor than go to Smallville’s prom!”  So not only was Kon a liar, he was a hypocrite too.

And thirdly (had he always had three reasons?), why had Kon invited _Cassie_ to prom? Why not Cissie? Why not one of the pretty corn-fed girls from Kansas who probably admired him so much?  _Way to keep a low profile_ , _Kon_ , he had thought, biting his cheek and unconsciously raising an eyebrow as Cassie accepted his flowers. _Why don’t the only two members of our team who go mask-less go to a fucking prom together. Real smart._

Had Kon and Cassie been seeing each other outside of Happy Harbor?  Had it started with that dumb game of Never Have I Ever and that kiss?  Were they going to kiss again at prom? Probably.  Cassie almost definitely thought Kon was attractive. How could she not? How could Kon not think _Cassie_ was attractive?

That was a _fourth_ problem. Was it really appropriate for teammates to be _dating_? Wasn’t that almost _always_ a bad idea? But it wasn’t like it was against the rules or anything, and Tim didn’t know if they were actually seeing each other.  There wasn’t really anything he could say.

Cassie, cool as always, had smiled enigmatically and said “Sure.” Bart had raised his eyebrows at Tim in confusion, who had just shrugged and grimaced as the their two teammates had discussed “dates” and “times” and “what to wear.”

Tim didn’t quite know why he felt quite so annoyed at this new development, but suddenly he felt the burning need to go to his own prom, which was almost definitely a more fun prom to go to than whatever high school gym fiasco they were throwing in Smallville. After a little bit of careful planning and some Wayne family money and influence, he had come back to Happy Harbor ready to perform his own promposal.

 

* * *

  

“You know how to defuse bombs.” Cissie said, dubiously.  “How is that you _both_ know how to defuse bombs?”

“Simple,” Tim said, closely inspecting the face of the analog clock and examining the multi-colored wires.  “The old man won’t let you wear the bat without it.  It’s basic training.  Green Arrow never taught you?”

“No.”

“It’s probably because Gotham baddies _looove_ bombs,” Stephanie said, having arrived quickly in full prom night regalia after receiving an anxious phone call from Tim.  She squatted down next to him to look at the time bomb as well, putting her head on his shoulder to get a closer look at the clock face.  “How much time do you think we’ve got Timbo?”

“Looks like fifteen minutes or so.”

“I was going to say thirteen minutes,” Stephanie said smiling playfully.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Tim said, smirking.  “If you’re going to be _specific_ about it.”

Tim felt Cissie’s incredulous eyes on him, and when he looked over at her, her mouth was agape. “Will you two stop flirting and get serious?”  Tim and Steph both glanced at each other, a little offended, but Cissie plowed on. “You’re telling me that neither of you have your _bomb defusing materials_ and we have less than _thirteen minutes_ to turn this thing off?”  She put her head in her hands and sighed.  “All I wanted was a day off. God! That’s all I wanted! I didn’t come to Gotham to get _fucking blown up!_ Why did I think this was a good idea?”

  

* * *

 

“Cissie,” Tim said, pushing open the door to Cissie’s room and adopting a scolding tone. “You really shouldn’t leave your arrows lying around base. Aren’t some of them bombs or something? You should be more careful.” 

Cissie gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m not Bart, Tim. I don’t leave my shit lying around.”

“What do you call this?” Tim responded, taking the arrow from behind his back and giving it to her.

Cissie furrowed her pale eyebrows and shook her head.  “That’s not my arrow.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I—” Cissie stopped talking and stared at the fletching, where the word “Prom?” was written in artful, black letters on the white feathers.  “What is this supposed to be?” She asked, her pale eyes widening in surprise

“I’m asking you to prom,” Tim said matter-of-factly.  “As friends, if that’s okay with you.”

“Well, what else would we go as?” Cissie laughed, hugging the arrow close to her chest. “This is really thoughtful, Tim. I love the arrow.”

“Of course.”

“Before I say yes though,” Cissie started, her freckled face adopting a serious expression, “I need you to answer a question for me.”

Tim was a little taken aback.  “What is it?”

“Why?”

Tim was confused. “Why am I asking you to Prom?”

“Yeah, why are you asking me to prom? Why are you going to prom at all? I had no idea you even considered school dances a thing. You haven’t said a single word about this to anyone.” Cissie raised her brow and gave him an expectant look. 

_Well that’s not exactly true,_ Tim thought, _but Cissie doesn’t need to know that_. “I don’t know,” Tim said, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the ground.  “How many chances does a kid have to go to his prom? And you’re fun, Cis. I’m asking you because you’re my friend and I know we’d have a good time together.”

“We would, but you have plenty of fun girlfriends closer to home.  Stephanie Brown, for one.”

Tim felt a little frustrated. “What do you want me to say Cissie?”

“I’m just wondering,” Cissie said absently, checking her nail beds like she always did before she was about to call someone out on their bullshit.  “If _you_ asking _me_ has anything to with the fact that a certain guy we know asked a certain girl we know to _his_ prom just last week.”

“No way! I wanted to go to prom before Kon did!”

Cissie sighed. “Whatever you say, Tim. I’m just wondering if you’re using me to make someone…” She trailed off, searching for a word.  “I’m wondering if you’re using me to make someone jealous.  That’s all.”

“ _J-jealous_?!” Tim sputtered, losing his cool.  “No way, Cis!  Who would I even be—what would I gain by—”

 “Calm down, Tim,” Cissie said, looking very disappointed for some reason. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Are you going to go with me or not?"

Cissie’s face softened. “I couldn’t say no to you even if I wanted to, Timmy.”  She ran her narrow, manicured fingers along the fletching of the arrow and grinned. “I’m already looking forward to it.”

“Don’t worry about the plane ticket.  I’ve got that covered.  And since it’s a Gotham Academy thing and most everyone there is rich as balls, I’ll give you some money to buy a dress too.”

“You don’t have to that,” Cassie frowned.  

“I’m Timothy Drake _Wayne_ ,” Tim had said, a little proudly. “If I can’t throw my dad’s money around on a pretty girl, then what kind of heir would I be?”

 

* * *

 

 

“We should evacuate all the little heirs and heiresses as soon as possible,” Cissie said, looking back towards the glittering ballroom filled with Tim’s classmates. 

“What? And ruin prom?” Tim asked.

Not for the first time in the last seven minutes, Cissie looked flabbergasted.  “”Wha—? It’s better than dying!”

“Calm down, Cis,” Tim said, wondering if he had ever seen his friend so stressed out. “Steph’s almost got it, right Steph?”

“Almost there,” Stephanie said, using the steak knife they had pilfered from the hotel dining room to snap a thick green wire.  “And we’ve still got plenty of time.”

As Cissie paced behind them, Tim stepped forward to examine Steph’s handiwork. Several wires had already been cut, and Steph, with blonde hair tied behind her head, looked at the last six uncut rubber-coated wires.

“What do you think, Tim?” She asked, taking a step back and crossing her arms.  “One more of these suckers should do the trick.”

Tim patted Stephanie on the back.  “The last one always gets to me too.  You’ve got this Steph.”

Steph smiled. “Thanks Tim, but I could still use a confidence boost.”  She put her hands on her hips. “On three, let’s both say which wire we think it is, okay?”

Tim nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“Okay,” Steph said, taking a deep breath.  “One…Two…

“Orange.”

“Purple!”

  

* * *

 

 

Cissie looked so absolutely stunning in her blue, low-cut dress that Tim hardly believed it was her as she walked down the stairs in the foyer.  Granted, usually he saw Cissie covered in sweat, blood, or worse, so it was hardly fair, but after a shower and a little bit of makeup, she would definitely outshine all of his high-society, Gothamite classmates.

Cissie caught him staring and made a funny face.  “What are you looking at boy wonder?” 

“You,” Tim said truthfully. “You look beautiful.” If Tim wasn’t mistaken, Cissie definitely started to turn pink.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she admitted.  “That monkey suit looks pretty good on you.”

Tim smiled. It wasn’t like Cissie to be forthcoming with compliments, so he appreciated when she gave them out, however backhanded they sounded. He held out his hand as Alfred snapped a picture. “Shall we?”

The theme of this year’s Gotham Academy Promenade was “Casino Royale.”  The ballroom in the hotel hand been partially taken over by real craps, blackjack, and roulette tables, as well as a few slot machines. A fine dining restaurant had been catered to serve food and champagne (one glass per student), and the student government had somehow managed to get a pretty legitimate DJ to play just the right music.

Tim had been correct in his assumption that everyone would be decked to the nines. The boys all wore perfectly tailored designer suits, and the girls were wearing dresses that he could only imagine had been on runways.  Outwardly, Cissie blended in perfectly, but as they walked into the ballroom, with its high, gilded ceilings and parquet floor, he could feel her grip on his arm tighten ever-so-slightly.

He squeezed her arm back. “Want to get something to eat?”

  

* * *

 

 

“Christ, I’m starving,” Cissie groaned, rubbing her stomach through the chiffon of her dress. “Saving two hundred lives really works up an appetite.”

After defusing the bomb (the correct wire had actually been the red one), none of them had felt very much like dancing.  Tim felt the stress of almost blowing up all of his classmates catch up to him. Stephanie insisted that she was definitely too old for prom.  Cissie had barely been able to stand as relief flooded her bloodstream.

It had definitely been time to go home.

Tim had called Alfred, but it was still going to be a wait until he got there, since he hadn’t expected them to be done this early.  Now the two of them sat on a bench by the hotel valet.  Cissie with Tim’s suit jacket over her bare shoulders; Tim with his sleeves rolled up to better feel the cool night air.

“Let’s raid the kitchen when we get home,” Tim said conspiratorially.  “Unless you’re still too _overcome_ to eat.”

“Whatever,” Cissie said blushing.  “I just feel naked in those situations without my stuff. Like, Arrowette may not know how to defuse a bomb, but she’d feel better about that whole situation than I did.”

“I don’t know, Cissie,” Tim said thoughtfully, craning his neck to find the rooftops of the skyscrapers around them.  “I think you would have known exactly what to do in that situation if Steph and I hadn’t been there.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tim.”

“I was being serious!” Tim shouted a bit defensively.

“So was I,” Cissie smiled. The nighttime sounds of Gotham—sirens, horns, footsteps, motors—filled the comfortable silence between them as they both tried to find pinpoint stars in the dark, smoggy sky.

“Tim,” Cissie said after a few minutes. “Can I say something?.”

“Shoot,” Tim replied.

“First, that was the most exciting prom I’ve ever been to,” Cissie said.  “Even if it was also the most stressful prom I’ve ever been to.”

Tim laughed. “As long as you enjoyed yourself.”

“Well, _enjoy_ may be the wrong word, but, sure.  I’m glad I came.”

Cissie bit her lip, like she was holding back. Tim grinned encouragingly. “And what else?”

“Promise you won’t get mad at me?”

“When do you ever hold back from saying stuff to spare my feelings?” Tim asked, disbelieving. “How horrible is this going to be?”

“Not horrible, just…promise me, okay?”

“I promise.”

Cissie took a deep breath. “This may be kind of out of line, but…” she chewed her lip.  “I just want you to know Tim; I don’t think Cassie likes Kon that way… or vice versa.”

Tim blinked at Cissie in surprise. 

“Sorry,” Cissie said, looking uncertainly at him.

“No,” Tim said, for some reason feeling something akin to the relief he felt after the bomb went dead. “Don’t be.”

He felt a small smile form unbidden on his lips. Contrary to what Cissie might have thought, he was already starting to feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna thank you guys for the nice messages I've gotten on here and on tumblr! It can be hard to write sometimes, but it makes it worth it when I know someone is liking what they're reading. <3 
> 
> In a couple chapters this story will take a turn towards the more romantic, jsyk!


	10. Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kon sleeps on it.

Somewhere in Kon’s subconscious, he knew he was dreaming. 

But _consciously_ , everything felt so real. No, more than real. _Sur_ real.  He could smell the air so perfectly, an absolute 100% match to Kansas in the nighttime—like earth and sawdust and hay and horses but without the smoggy something that made cities smell dirty.  Not only that, but he could _feel_ it, rolling across the cornfields, cooling his skin, ruffling his short-cropped hair and causing his Kansas City Chiefs t-shirt to ripple against his skin.

He was a solitary figure on the roof of the old red barn just opposite the farmhouse.  The moon cast a silvery light on everything, catching the chrome accents on the tractor and causing them to glint, providing a stark, cold contrast to the warm orange glow of the porch light to the right of the farmhouse’s front door.

Another gust of wind ruffled the leaves of solitary elm tree that stood to the right of the barn, momentarily drowning out the racket that the crickets and cicadas had been making. As the breeze died, Kon saw the light in Ma and Pa Kent’s room click off.

A warm, fond feeling came to his chest.  “Hmm,” he murmured to himself.  “They must be asleep.”

_So are you,_ his subconscious said from far away. Kon heard it, but did not understand it, and so immediately forgot it.  He was _awake_ , wide-awake, sitting on the barn roof on the farm in Smallville.  The night was so beautiful that it tugged gently at his heart.  The moon was full. He was peaceful. He was happy.

“Are you happy because I’m here?” Tim asked from beside him.  Kon didn’t feel surprise.  Tim had been there the whole time.  He wore a white oxford shirt, two buttons undone and sleeves rolled to let the breeze cool him. The shirt was tucked into a pair of dark blue jeans, which were rolled at the ankles above bare feet. His pitch-black hair fell down almost to his shoulders and lifted with the breeze. Tim turned to Kon with an enigmatic smile. His skin had a soft, white luster. His eyes were the same silver-blue as the huge full moon.

“I’m just admiring the night is all,” Kon replied simply, turning his head toward the stars. His chin, which had been tucked to examine the things going on below him, now felt the cool caress of the nighttime air as he turned his attention to things above him.

“I thought Kryptonians liked the daytime,” Tim said, his clear, east-coast accented voice distinct against the normal Kansan evening noises.

“I don’t know,” he responded, his voice a little scratchy sounding from a long period of silence. “I think I feel more energized during the day. Like, I have a battery that’s constantly being recharged. But at night…”

The thousands of stars above him twinkled brighter. Somewhere up there was the dust that remained of his family heritage. The half of him that he was proud of was from an infinity away, past stars and planets and galaxies, beyond things both horrible and beautiful but always mysterious.

“But at night, you feel at peace,” Tim said, saying precisely what Kon had been thinking. His friend wrapped his arms around his denim-clad knees and brought them closer to his chest, causing the white cotton on his back to stretch tight over lean, hard muscles.

“Exactly,” Kon said, putting an arm on the rough, sand-papery shingles to turn his torso towards his friend.  “I feel at peace.”

“If you’re up here to try to feel peace, then there must be something that you’re feeling agitated about,” Tim said logically, looking straight into Kon’s eyes. _Ba-bump_.

“Yeah, I—” _Ba-bump_. Kon’s heart thumped again.  “I guess there _is_ something I’m feeling weird about.”

“I feel weird about it too,” Aaron Akin said. His letterman’s jacket was tossed over the back of the bench they were sitting on.  After all, it was hot day, and without shade, Kansas could be a very stifling place. His shaggy strawberry-blonde hair ruffled in the welcome midday breeze.

“Weird about what?” Kon asked, forgetting what he had been talking about.

“Weird about _Anthony_.  What else?” Aaron said in frustration. “How could he have hidden it from us for all that time?  It’s fucked up. I _changed_ in front of him, for crying out loud.”

“You should be happy then, that’s he’s out,” Kon said feeling a little confused.  “Maybe we _all_ will feel more comfortable now that everyone knows the truth.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because things have changed,” Aaron said, balling his big calloused hands into fists. “And change is uncomfortable.”

“Why does it matter that things have changed?” Kon asked, feeling like he was missing something important. “Aren’t lives lived better if they’re lived honestly?”

Aaron shook his head and stared forlornly at the sparse brown grass on the school lawn. The American flag that flew above the school started to snap and twist in a sudden gale. “You’re a good kid, Kon, but let me tell you something my old man told me.”

“Hmm?”

“Certain things must always be kept secret,” Clark said solemnly.  Even though the two of them were related, closer to each other than they were to anything else in this galaxy, it was still hard to feel any bigger than an ant in comparison.  The raised borders of the red S on his chest glinted in the red-orange light of the sunset. The winds of the high atmosphere buffeted Clark’s curly black hair this way and that, but, as usual, his face remained authoritative, composed, and perfectly cold like stone.

“Why should I hide who I am?” Kon said loudly, trying to be heard over the wind.  He was struggling to remain airborne, but Clark’s body remained perfectly fixed with the exception of his crimson cape and black hair.  “I’m not ashamed!”

“But you _are_ different,” Clark said imperiously.

“ _Everyone’s_ different!” Kon argued, the cold, thin air howling around him.

“Not as different as you,” Clark crossed his arms over his chest in a smooth slow motion. He looked both powerful and emotionless, a black silhouette against a flaming, angry sun, a callous god. “You must hide your power to protect your Self.”

Anger boiled up from within Kon. He raised his chin imperiously.  “What could _they_ do to me?” He said dismissively.

“They could hate you,” Clark said brutally.

Kon closed his eyes, fighting the hot, angry tears that were forming there. Was it worth being loved for something you weren’t?  How was it possible that a whole species could hate him for simply being who he was?

“I could never hate you,” Tim said honestly. The Kansas night was still. The moon had moved higher into the sky, smaller.  The crickets and cicadas had stopped chirping.  The leaves on the trees were perfectly still. The air sat thick and motionless over them like a blanket.  Tim placed his thin, slender fingered-hand over Kon’s large, strong one.

“You couldn’t?” Kon murmured, his voice hoarse with fear.

Tim looked straight into his eyes. “Never,” he replied. His tone brokered no doubt. Kon felt Tim’s hand squeeze his own. _Ba-bump_. “Kon,” he said, scooting closer.  “No one who knows you like I do could hate you.”

“What if there’s something you don’t know about me, though?” Kon asked, feeling sick with fear. “What if there’s something I’ve been keeping from you?”

“Have you lied to me about everything?” Tim asked, cocking his head.  His glossy hair shifted and caught the slivery moonlight. “Has everything you’ve ever told me and shown me about who you are been a lie?”

“No,” Kon admitted. “Not everything.” His mouth formed a hard line. “I’m still me.”

“And I care about you, Kon. If what you’ve been keeping from me is more of you, I couldn’t possibly hate you for it. I want you to be happy.”

_Ba-bump_. “But what if what I tell you changes things?”

Tim thought about this for a moment, collecting his thoughts as he pulled at a stray thread from his shirt.  “Change doesn’t have to be better or worse,” Tim said.  “And one of the miracles of both Earthlings and Kryptonians is that we both know how to adapt to it.”

Kon smiled. “How did you get to be so smart, Tim?”

“I’ve had to deal with a lot of change in my lifetime too,” said Tim, smiling gently.  “We’re more similar than different, you and I.”

_Not as different as you_. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’m certain. There’s more that connects than separates us,” Tim said matter-of-factly.

“Then what if—” Kon started, staring at the rough, pebbly surface of the rooftop shingles. _Ba-bump, ba-bump._  “What if I said that I wanted to be… _connected_ to you?”

Tim frowned. “Connected how?”

“Like—” Kon reached the hand that Tim wasn’t holding to touch the smooth, cool skin on his friend’s face, to bring it closer to him. At first, Tim’s neck went stiff, but it was only for half a second. He let Kon bring his head closer. Kon could smell the pepperminty shampoo that Tim always used. His friend’s eyes started to close, his long eyelashes lowering slowly.  Tim’s cool forehead touched Kon’s, his long dark hair tickling the skin on Kon’s cheek. Kon was suddenly aware of his whole body tingling.

“You want…”Tim started huskily, lifting his eyes to meet Kon’s.  “You want to be connected like this?”

Kon felt a gravity between their two faces that was stronger than the force that kept him somewhat tethered to the earth.  He closed his eyes like he was in pain, feeling a longing stronger than any he had felt in his short life. His face was drawn incrementally closer. The tips of their noses gently touched. 

“Would you hate me for that?” Kon murmured, eyes still closed. He could feel Tim’s warm breath slipping in and out between his lips. He could hear Tim’s heart beating as fast as his own.

“Never,” Tim whispered. His forehead parted from Kon’s, but only so that he could place the softest of kisses where their skin had touched, right at his hairline.

“Never.” Another kiss, this one firmer, on his cheek.  Kon wrapped his arm around Tim’s back and brought his chest against his own. He could feel Tim’s heart beating fast and delicate, like a hummingbird’s.

“Never,” Tim repeated, his voice thicker. Kon felt Tim’s lips on the corner of his jaw where it met his neck.  He moved his hands lower to Tim’s waist and reclined against the slant of the rooftop.

“Never.” A kiss on his chin, right below his lips.  Kon hadn’t noticed his breathing speed up, but now he was aware that he was practically panting. He opened his eyes and saw only Tim, hair a little askew, white shirt wrinkled, the pale color of his eyes dark—obscured by blown pupils.

His pale eyes were dark because he _wanted_ him.

“This is what I want,” Kon was barely able to say. 

“I could never hate you,” Tim said throatily. Kon closed his eyes and felt Tim’s lips meet his own. They were full, forceful. They tasted like cheap beer and cinnamon gum…

_That’s not right_ , Kon thought as the feeling of Tim’s lips started to mute.  _That’s not what they’d feel like._

_This isn’t real_ , whispered the wind.

_Cinnamon gum_ … Kon thought. _Who chews cinnamon gum?_

_Wake up,_ sang the crickets.

“No,” Kon pleaded, trying to hang onto the scene.  But once he realized he was dreaming, it was already too late. Tim’s weight lifted off of him.  The breeze felt like his sheets. The shingles felt like his mattress. The memory of the kisses was already fading.

His eyes flew open. His heart still raced.  All he could see was the slowly rotating fan on the dingy off-white ceiling above his bed. A pale beam of moonlight shone into his room, making shadows of the hills his legs made underneath the blankets. He was sweating, and his chest was still heaving. Although the dream was fading, he couldn’t forget what it had been about.

Part of him wanted to go back asleep and try to pick up where he had left off, to try and find that ideal Dream Smallville and stay there forever.  But the other part, the one that was afraid, was sure it wanted all he had felt to be forgotten.  Kon sighed and pulled his pillow out from under his head so he could press the cool side to his face, blinking slowly and listening to the whispers his eyelashes made as they brushed the cotton pillowcase. 

The dream had been strange, but it had been _good_ strange. Tim had kissed him, and _that_ had been strange, but it had been _good_ strange too. There was no point in overanalyzing it; Kon was at least sharp enough to know what his dream meant. The only thing he needed to ask himself was what to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter if my FAVORITE CHAPTER that I've written yet. Stay tuned! :)


	11. There Are Scarier Things...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim gets some good advice from a "bad" friend.

It was past midnight in Gotham and Tim was doing what he normally did at that hour: stalking bad guys.

Tim was perched on the roof of a project building in disrepair. The brick façade was crumbling in some places so badly that he had been uncertain about sitting on the ledge of the building.  It was a pretty quiet neighborhood for Gotham though.  Very few cars passed on the street at this time of night, but as always in Gotham, it wasn’t perfectly silent.  He could hear late-night news programs from the televisions inside the building, and loud, drunken syllables could be heard from the dive bar a couple blocks down the street.

As far as stakeout spots went, this one was fair.  It smelled okay, like cigarette smoke and car exhaust as opposed to cat piss and garbage.  Plus, there was a pretty good breeze. Tim absently replaced a lock of black hair that the breeze in question had dislodged back where it belonged behind his ear. The new suit already felt better in the summer weather than his full cowl, but it had the disadvantage of leaving his hair to the elements.  He had thought he looked handsome, maybe even a little bit like Dick, but when he was stepping out to go on patrol Damian had remarked (loudly and snottily) that he had mistaken him for Cassandra from behind.

He tugged the hair loose again and narrowed his eyes, realizing that it easily fell past his chin. _Perhaps it **is** time for a cut…_

At that moment, a car pulled up in front of the alley beside the project, and Tim’s hair was forgotten as the baddie he had been watching for finally came out of the project into broad moonlight.

The baddie in question had been rumored to be accepting a large shipment of drugs (specifically heroin) from a Mexican Drug Lord, and Tim could hardly believe his good luck that the rumors were true. He smirked, self-satisfied. How fortunate for the good citizens of Gotham that their hero, the Red Robin, would take down a drug distributor and drug lord all in one fell swoop!

He raised his binoculars to his face to get a better look at what was going on.  A well-dressed portly man wearing sunglasses (even this late at night) stepped out of the black town car on the street as the guy he had been tailing walked forward from the back of the alley confidently, hands in jean pockets, leading with his hips.

He switched his binoculars to camera mode.  He would need proof of the deal, literal money changing hands in exchange for drugs, or these guys’ lawyers would have one or both of them out of jail faster than you could say “due process.”

He leaned forward on the ledge, chest muscles pressed a little uncomfortably on the cement barrier, listening closely to make sure he didn’t dislodge anything and alert the two men standing below.  He narrowed the scope of his camera lens with sharp-shooter accuracy.  The man in the jeans handed something to the man in the suit.  Tim focused the lens. _Click_. The man in the suit snapped his fingers. _Click_. Three henchmen got out of the town car and started unloading briefcases. _Click, click, click_. 

The yellow glow of the wall light above the door in the alley flickered and buzzed as bugs flew into it, causing the shadows of the two men below to stutter in turn.

“You’re sure that’s all of it?” The man in the jeans asked, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down his nose at the briefcases.

“If you want to weigh it, be my guest,” the man in the suit said, making an indifferent gesture. “It’s all there.”

Two henchmen wearing leather gloves came out of the project building and started to grab the briefcases and bring them to their side of the alley. The man in the jeans turned his chin up and smirked. “Thanks for making this so convenient for me,” he said a little snidely.

“Funny—” came a disembodied voice, somewhere below Tim but above the street. _Oh no… that voice_ … Tim thought, his stomach dropping. “That’s just what _I_ was about to say!”

Tim had just enough time to drop his camera on the rooftop and launch himself out into empty space over the alley before the gunfire rang out.

The Red Hood jumped down from a fire escape—how had Tim _missed_ him?—and was spraying bullets into the crowd.  Tim extended his metal wings from the pack on his back as the drug dealers hurled themselves behind anything that could protect them.

“Nice of you to join us, _replacement_!” Jason shouted jovially as Tim landed in the alleyway.

“Have you forgotten whose city this is?” He yelled as Jason fired three shots toward the town car, red helmet reflecting the explosions of light from his gun dangerously.

“I seem to have a selective memory about things like ‘whose city belongs to whom,’ and ‘renewing my gun license,’ and ‘ _the law_ , _’_ ” Jason said dryly, easily sidestepping the shot of one of the suited men’s henchmen.  “But I _don’t_ seem to remember Gotham belonging to an _eighteen_ year old.” The Red Hood put a hand where his cheek would be in a gesture of mock concern. “Could I be wrong?”

Tim was thankful for his domino mask hiding the flush that rushed to his cheeks.  He blocked the gunshots coming his way by raising one of his metal wings.  “No killing!” He sputtered, failing to hide the whine in his voice.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Baby Bird,” Red Hood responded.  The eye roll in his voice was audible. “I aim to maim, not to murder.” A shot exploded from Jason’s gun and was followed by a sickening _crack_ and bloodcurdling screech. Someone’s kneecap had just exploded.  Jason simply shrugged nonchalantly.  “Can I help it if I’m a bad shot?”

A few gunshots later, and the bats had taken care of business.

The police were there, the bad guys were tied up, the more dangerous wounds were bound, and Jason and Tim were standing up on Tim’s rooftop, surveying the scene.  Luckily, Tim’s camera hadn’t been broken when he had dropped it, and he had already emailed the pictures of the drug deal to the GCPD.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t been here?” Tim chided, as the two of them gazed on as the crooks were loaded into the back of a prisoner transport vehicle.  “They could’ve claimed the drugs were planted on them. The drug lords both would’ve gotten out. You know that.”

“ _Wellllll_ , let’s just say that I wanted to spare you some…interrogation techniques,” Jason remarked as breezily as if he was talking about taking a toddler to Gymboree.   “I didn’t want to give wittle baby wepwacement nightmares!”

“Please, _Hood_ ,” Tim growled, experiencing the usual undercurrent of annoyance he usually felt around Jason. “I may not have _died_ like you, but I’ve still seen some shit.”

Jason blinked, and then he laughed so loudly that the police on the street looked up towards the rooftop. “Wow!” He crowed. “Wow, Fledgling, you actually _went_ there!”

Tim was a little surprised by Jason’s reaction but was pleased that he was laughing and not trying to kill him.  “It’s true isn’t it?”

“That it is, that it is.” Jason paused, as if considering something. “What are you up to now?”

Tim furrowed his brow. This wasn’t the kind of interaction he usually had with Jason, and he was feeling a little uncomfortable in this unfamiliar territory.  “This was the main job,” he admitted. “But I guess I should probably patrol a little bit more.”

“Daddy Dearest and the Demon Spawn are still in town right?” Jason asked.  “Let _them_ take care of Gotham and take a load off, Red Robin. Come have some beer at my place to celebrate a job well done.”

Tim blinked. _Some beer?_   That was _certainly_ not normal Jason behavior. “What’s the catch?” Tim asked charily. “Are you going to try to kill me?” 

“The only thing that’s going to kill you is your hangover tomorrow morning, unless you _want_ me to write ‘Jason Todd was here’ in your blood again?”

  

* * *

 

 

One trip to a safe house and three (or _four_?) beers later and Tim Drake was spilling his guts.

“—and we were really lucky that Steph thought to raid the kitchen for that steak knife. We still don’t know who, um…who, uhhh…”

Jason pushed a hand back through his hair and smiled patiently. “Who planted the bomb?”

Tim grinned widely. _Jason is so nice!_ He brought his beer to his lips again and nodded. “Yeah, who planted the body—I mean the bomb. I think I prob’ly could have figured it out by now, but I’m too lazy.”

“No one would ever call _you_ lazy, Fledgling,” Jason said, not unkindly while taking a sip of his beer too. He looked Tim in the eye and gave him his full attention. “So then what happened?”

“At prom?” Tim considered this for a moment. “Well, Steph left. She said that ‘prom is the lamest thing ever,’ but I saw her eyeing the dance floor.”

“She probably just wanted you and Cissie to have some time alone,” Jason said, grinning a little predatorily.

“Hmmm,” Tim frowned, supporting his head, which was feeling strangely heavy, in his hand. “Maybe…”

“So come _on_ Tim, quit holding out on me. What happened after prom?”

“Uh…me and Cissie went back to the manor, Alfred gave us ice cream sundaes, we talked in the kitchen for a bit, and then we went to bed.” Tim shrugged sloppily.

“And you went to bed… _together_?”

Tim finally realized what Jason was getting at. “What? No! I told you we went as friends!”

“Chill. I’m not judging you or anything, but that’s a pretty lame prom night, don’t you think? ‘Ice cream sundaes?’ The most action you got was from the bomb!”

“I don’t think of Cissie like that.”

“Why not? _I_ like Cissie. She’s cool.  Easy to talk to. Hot too.”

“How do you—? Why would you—?”

“I know _every_ one in the game,” Jason said nonchalantly, brushing aside Tim’s questions.  “But level with me Timbits, what’s going on in that big head of yours? Is Cissie not good enough for you?”

“Of course she’s good enough. She’s a great girl. She’s a great _person_. It’s just…” Tim was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable again. The truth was that he had just never _thought_ of Cissie or Cassie romantically, but for some reason, that didn’t seem like a good enough answer for Jason.  He thought of the reasons why he was pissed at Kon for taking Cassie. “It’d be irresponsible of me to hook up with a teammate.”

“’Irresponsible?’” Jason laughed out loud again.  It was kind of a harsh sound, but it filled the starkly decorated room and made Tim feel marginally more at ease.  “Dickie would be _sooo_ disappointed in you, Baby Bird.”

“How d’you mean?”

“He’s the _king_ of sleeping with teammates!  Judging by your hair, isn’t Grayson, like, your _idol_ or something? You should know that! Kory, Helena, Raven, Babs, fucking _Roy_ …” Jason cupped his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Actually it’s starting to sound like a _kink_ of his or something…”

“Doesn’t it blow up in his face every time?” Tim asked, feeling a little attacked.

“ _Yes_!” Jason laughed.  “But, Baby Bird, I think he would tell you that it’s worth it. Quit denying yourself life’s pleasures, Tim. You’re not Bruce.”

Tim smiled. He _wasn’t_ Bruce, and he didn’t want to be either. Jason was right.  He was over Stephanie, so maybe it was time to let himself like someone again.

“So let’s play a game,” Jason said, getting up, sauntering over to a cabinet, and pulling out two large, crystal shot glasses and a glass bottle of Patrón.  He poured tequila into both of the glasses and served one to Tim, clinking the other glass with his and downing the clear liquid in one smooth motion.  “You drink that shot, and then you tell me who on your team you would sleep with—” Tim opened his mouth to protest, but Jason raised a hand to silence him. “If you _had_ to, if you _had_ to pick. Who’s the most attractive?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Tim said, feeling his already flushed cheeks burn even brighter.

“Then take _three_ shots instead of one.”

“What?” Tim exclaimed. His head was already swimming. He didn’t usually drink (he wasn’t technically old enough after all), but even _he_ knew that three shots were a bad idea. “I can’t do that!”

“Then fucking tell me, and tell me the truth.” Jason leaned in close to Tim’s face to make sure Tim could see the menace in his blue-green eyes.  “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Tim sighed resignedly and closed his eyes. _If I had to sleep with anyone on my team_ … immediately an image of Kon’s arms popped into his head. He had had such a great view of their musculature the other day when Kon was shirtless on his bed and Tim was sitting on top of him…

…

…

_Wait, **what?!**_

Tim must have blushed scarlet because Jason howled with laughter again.  “Look at that red plumage!  You’re fantasizing right here in front of me, Kinky Bird!

“Am not!”

“Tell me who you’re thinking about.  Come on. Please. I’m dying to know.”

“I can’t!”

Jason gave him an odd look, as if he was considering something that couldn’t possibly be true. “You’re thinking about one of the _guys_ aren’t you?” Jason asked softly, almost wonderingly. 

Tim grabbed his shot glass and gulped the tequila, which burned his throat on the way down.  There was no point in lying to Jason. He was trained in lie detection just as much as Tim was and he would know if he tried to deny it.  “It’s not like I’ve _been_ thinking about him that way,” he said, looking at his hands.  “It just…sort of…occurred to me now.”

“Then it would be Kon, right?” Jason decided astutely, pouring himself another shot of tequila and downing it. “No shame in that, Tim.  That’s a good looking boy.”

“You think?” Tim asked, amazed.  He had expected a barrage of insults or at least some teasing, but Jason was actually being kind.

“Sure,” Jason said matter-of-factly.  “And if Bruce and Clark aren’t going to face reality—”

“Huh?”

“No, nothing,” Jason said quickly. “So, are you planning on doing anything about this little crush of yours?”

“It’s not a crush,” Tim whined petulantly.  “It’s just if I _had_ to pick anyone, like you said.”

Jason cocked an eyebrow and narrowed his eyelids to form a dubious expression. “Right…” He said slowly.  “But—and I can’t be _lieve_ I have to you this—there’s nothing wrong with hooking up with a guy. It can be really hot actually.”

Jason laughed, as Tim’s eyes grew wide. “Have you—?”

“Timmy, I was literally tortured to death.  Do you really think that _butt stuff_ would scare me?”

Tim considered this, though his faculties were much duller than usual.  “I guess…when you put it that way…”

“Exactly,” Jason said, sounding more and more like a health teacher and less and less like a wanted murderer. “And if you’re curious, you should just _think_ on it, maybe use your hands a little.  See what happens, if you’re smelling what I’m stepping in.”

 _He wants me to masturbate_ , Tim realized with dawning horror. What on earth had this night become?  “I—I’m getting out of here,” Tim mumbled, stumbling out of his chair and weaving his way towards the big picture window opposite the kitchen.

“Oh no you don’t!” Came Jason’s shout. A strong hand grabbed onto his elbow before he had gotten too far.  “I can’t let you drink and grapple, kiddo.  You’ll stay here tonight.”

“Here?” Tim asked dimly. Standing up had made him realize just how drunk he was.  The world tilted and spun, and Tim had to struggle for balance.

“Yes, here. Well done, detective.” Jason quipped, putting an arm around Tim’s waist to support him.  “I’ll take the pullout, and you can take my bed, just…no _imagining_ anything on my nice silk sheets, all right?”

Tim covered his face with his hands, feeling humiliated. “Oh my god.”

“Unless…you wanted a little of my _help_? Imagining?” Jason asked, and for a beat Tim couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. They stared at each other, but Jason just winked.  “Goodnight, Timmy,” he said, tossing Tim bodily onto something big and soft, which must have been Jason’s bed.  “Thanks for an interesting evening.”

As Jason left the room and turned off the light, Tim slithered into the fresh-smelling gray silk sheets.  He wasn’t sure if it was Jason’s advice or his alcohol, but Tim felt warm, comfortable, and at peace.  He hugged a pillow and smiled. _Kon’s a good-looking boy, huh?_ He mused, calling Kon’s face to his mind.  That was certainly true.  His eyelashes were long and dark like a girl’s, and they bordered Kon’s narrow, inhumanly blue eyes perfectly.  The skin on Kon’s face was clear and smooth, and Tim would know…he had felt it.  And there was something about the shape of his jaw…so square it begged to be punched, or maybe kissed…

Tim sighed and rolled over onto his stomach. He was definitely too tired and too drunk to give it a decent try tonight, but he would be lying if he wasn’t _really_ interested in taking Jason’s advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was alternatively titled "How Many Bad-Taste Death Jokes Can I Make," and "I'm Sorry, Jason, for Making You Say This Shit." Curse my poor shipper heart for wanting Tim to be with everyone! Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! And don't worry...this is still a TimKon fic ;)


	12. Will You Be There Holding My Hand?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kon finds himself as the damsel in distress, and he my not totally hate it.

Kon had never felt so horrible in his entire life.  He was absolutely dripping with sweat. His head was spinning. He felt like his stomach consisted of about a thousand worms the width of his wrist, just wriggling and undulating and sliding all over each other. He gagged. He bent over onto his hands and knees. He felt like his body was both flaming and frigid at the same time.

Most of all he felt weak, horribly, horribly weak.  Even breathing took all of his effort, all of his mental fortitude. He gasped. His elbows gave out and he slumped onto the metal floor in front of him and closed his eyes.

So _this_ was kryptonite. It felt like dying.

“Christ,” Tim muttered above him. “Just hang on, Superboy. I’m sure the others will think of _something_ …”

They had been investigating a lead on Deathstroke. A warehouse in New Jersey.  Rumors of a gigantic weapons cache. It was going to be a _huge_ bust.  Perhaps Young Justice’s most important job yet, but, as they should have expected, Slade Wilson had known they were coming.

They had split up. Impulse was casing most of the building by himself.  Wonder Girl and Arrowette were taking another 10% and he and Tim had taken a second 10%. Superboy and Red Robin had walked into an innocent looking room with some metal crates.

“Weapons cache, mayhaps?” Tim had asked, playfully. Everything had been going so well that they had both let their guards down.  There was some security that had been easily taken care of. They had _thought_ that they had the element of surprise.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It had obviously been a trap; Kon could see that now. The metal door had slammed shut behind them before they even had a chance to react.  Kon had started to burn the metal away with his laser vision, but then one of the crates opened…and the green glow appeared. 

“Can you pry one of these crates open?” Red Robin asked, sounding distant but collected as always. Maybe we can toss the kryptonite in…you didn’t feel weird when you walked in the room, did you?”

“No…” Kon moaned. He hadn’t.  He had definitely felt normal.  He opened his eyes and tried to focus them on anything, but no matter how hard he tried he could stop the world from looking blurry. Or spinning.  He closed his eyes again.  “Hate…to say it…but I don’t think…I’ll be… _prying_ …any…thing…” he managed to get out between breaths. 

“I guess _I’m_ the strongest one in the room right now, huh?” Tim joked bitterly.  His light feet paced over the metal floor.  “I never thought I’d feel so upset about that.”

Kon tried to force out a laugh, but it ended up sounding more like a cough.  Tim’s footsteps kept sounding out over the metal floor. _Clunk, clunk, clunk_.

“ _Think_ ,” Tim whispered to himself. “The room is way too small to use an explosive.  Usually I’d just use _you_ as a human shield, but it looks like _that’s_ not happening.”

“Yeah…don’t think I could take…an explosion to the face…right now.”

“And something in the wall is jamming our communications,” Tim said.  “So I can’t tell the others where we are.  That might actually be okay—they’ll notice us going incommunicado, if they’re not in a similar situation.”

“Shit…” That was right. The others might be trapped as well.  That was what Deathstroke was known for after all—his foresight.  If he had prepared a little Kryptonite trap for him and Tim, he would almost certainly have something else prepared for the rest of the team.

“I wouldn’t worry too much though,” Tim said, sounding closer.  The footsteps slowly _clunk clunked_ their way towards Kon’s head. A cape rustled.  A hand was on Kon’s back, gently moving up and down, soothing him.  “Bart’s close to impossible to catch.  And whatever weaknesses Cassie has, they’re nowhere near as obvious as yours.”

“Ha,” Kon managed to get out, grateful for Tim’s hand on his back.  His body felt so uncomfortable, and so did the floor, so it was nice to have something good to focus on.  In any other situation, he’d be fighting off embarrassment, ordering Tim not to be so sensitive, but now…all he could do was sigh.

“We just have to sit here and wait, Superboy,” Tim said softly, continuing to absently scratch Kon’s back.  “Think you can do that?”

“Good question,” Kon replied.  He was actually wondering.  The misery the kryptonite was putting him through was abominable, and he was feeling really, really sick.  Could kryptonite kill a Kryptonian?  Or did it just make them _feel_ terrible? It wasn’t like he was shot with a kryptonite bullet or anything, but he just felt so nauseous.

_Ugh_ … _soooo_ nauseous…

Kon couldn’t even lift his head as he vomited up that afternoon’s lunch all over the floor next to him. It was still stuck to his lips, and he was so tired that he would’ve just continued lying there if Tim wasn’t already trying to drag him away from it.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Tim cried, grabbing Kon’s arm and lifting. The lurch he felt made him feel even more nauseous and he heaved again.

“Sorry,” he managed to mutter, feeling embarrassed in the small corner of his brain that wasn’t busy feeling awful.

“Don’t apologize,” Tim said gently from above him, moving him more slowly this time to a farther corner of the room.  He set Kon tenderly back down on the ground and resumed rubbing his back.  “You look awful, man.”

“I feel worse…”

“Tell me what it feels like.” All Kon’s senses were muted, but Tim’s voice still sounded calm and kind above him. Tim’s fingers were steadily writing the alphabet in cursive on his back now, first in capital letters, then in under case.  _E…e…F…f…G…g…_

“It feels like…” Kon searched his brain for an appropriate simile.  “It feels like…every cell in my body…just caught swine flu…and are all hurling…at the same time…”

“How would you know what swine flu feels like?” Tim teased. “You’ve never gotten the flu.”

Kon cough-laughed again. “True.”

_R…r…S…s…T…t…_

“You look sicker than most people I’ve ever seen, so I’ll let it slide,” Tim conceded, continuing to move his hands. 

“Kryptonite blows.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to hate it too,” Tim said.  _Y…y…Z…z…_ “Is there anything I can do?  I’m pretty sure I can’t do anything about the kryptonite, but…”

“Can you turn the floor…into a pillow? …It’s fucking hard.”

Tim chuckled, and suddenly Kon felt his shoulders lift up off the floor…felt his head come to rest upon something much softer than metal.  _Tim’s lap?_   “Just give me a heads up if you’re going to barf again.”

“I’ll try,” Kon sighed. He cracked his eyes open and could make out Tim looking down at him, with a concerned expression on his face. “You’re worried about me…”

“Of course I’m worried,” Tim said, moving his hands to start playing with Kon’s hair, slowly mussing it and then returning it to rights again.  “Geez, I think you have a fever.  No wonder you can barely move, you’re burning up.” Tim removed his glove and put a hand on Kon’s forehead.  “Yowch, Kon. I don’t think you’re normally this hot…”

“I just feel clammy,” Kon groaned, adjusting his shoulders to get more comfortable in Tim’s lap. Tim’s hands returned to his hair.

“Duh, because you have a _fever_ ,” he lectured. “That’s what happens when a human gets sick.  Your body’s set temperature increases. Your body makes you feel cold to motivate you to make yourself hotter, which aids your immune system.”  If Kon had been feeling any better, he would have rolled his eyes. Tim’s nerdiness always came out at the strangest times.  Tim tugged a little playfully on the hair just above Kon’s forehead.  “Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.  It’s Physiology 101…” 

“Ha,” Kon coughed. He hadn’t.  He hadn’t even been sick _once_ in his short life, so why would he care about immunoglobulins and all that crap?  “You must…think I’m so…pathetic,” Kon managed to get out, wincing and closing his eyes again.

“Why would I think that?” Tim asked, sounding as worried as he had this whole time. 

“You’ve been sick…your scars…what you…and I….”

“You think I’m tougher than you, Kon?” Tim asked. His voice was less calm, but he was still playing with Kon’s hair.  “You’re wrong. Or maybe you’re right—who cares? I don’t doubt that you feel miserable. You don’t need to prove to me that whatever you’re feeling is real.  I _hope_ you come out of this none the worse for wear.”

“I just feel… so useless…”

Tim chuckled. His hands moved to tickle the short hairs at the base of Kon’s head. “Well, you kind of are, but we _all_ are sometimes. I feel that way _frequently_ when I’m standing next to you and Bart and Cassie.”

“But you’re so smart.”

“Only because I have to be,” Tim sighed.  “Imagine how awesome we’d be if we were one person, Kon.  Your strength? My brain? We could probably take over the world.”

“You sound…like my dad.”

“Superman?”

“Luthor.”

“Oh,” Tim murmured. His hands were back on Kon’s scalp, tangling up in his short hair. Kon faintly concluded that the kryptonite was almost worth it, if it allowed Tim and him to touch like this. He realized that being touched was actually kind of nice.  He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so gently, maybe nobody ever had.  He didn’t have a mother, and his fathers…well…they would never behave this way.  Not Clark, and certainly not Luthor. Ma Kent had never had a reason to give him anything more tender than a hug.

Tears pricked the corners of Kon’s eyes, and before he could do anything, a steady stream of them were pouring down the sides of his face. 

“Whoa…are you feeling worse?”  Tim asked hurriedly, using his thumb to roughly wipe the tears away.

“Not really,” Kon answered. He felt miserable, physically, like he was going to die, but emotionally…he just felt a terrible shame. He wasn’t sure if _anyone_ had _ever_ treated him as kindly as Tim was treating him in this moment. He wanted more of whatever this was.  He selfishly hoped that the others would never find them. He wished Tim would’ve just yelled at him for throwing up instead of treating him like this, just so that he could either die or go on living not knowing that people treated other people this way, but not him. Never him.

“Lachrymation…” Tim mused, as if trying to picture a page from a textbook.  “Maybe the kryptonite is activating your parasympathetic nervous system.” He put his ear on Kon’s chest to check his heart rate. The way they were sitting dictated that Kon’s face was in Tim’s chest too. “Do Kryptonians even _have_ a parasympathetic nervous system?” Tim’s voice was a physical rumble, a vibration from his chest to Kon’s throat. “I don’t know what you’re baseline levels are, Kon.  I can’t tell if your heart rate is elevated or depressed or what…”

Kon strained to listen to his own heart beating.  “It sounds…faster…than normal.”

“And your pupils aren’t constricted…Well, that’s good news, maybe,” Tim said, sounding relieved. “I was afraid the kryptonite was acting like a nerve agent or something.”  Tim kept his ear on Kon’s chest.  “As soon as I get home I promise to ask Batman to tell me everything he knows about this nasty stuff _and_ Kryptonian physiology.  Next time we won’t be caught so unprepared.”

Tim sat back up, and Kon immediately missed the feeling of having his face buried in the other boy’s chest.  “I’m glad it’s you,” he said as quickly and forcefully as he could before he lost his nerve.

“Huh?”

“Who’s here with me…and not the others…”

“Afraid of crying in front of the girls, huh? Afraid Bart would tease you?  Hate to break it to you, but you might have gotten out of here faster if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m so human.”

“I don’t care.”

Tim exhaled, and if Kon wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like Tim might have been pleased. “I’m flattered,” he said, and Kon mustered a smile.

Suddenly there was a pounding on the door.  “Guys? _GUYS!”_ It was Cassie. Kon sighed. He’d be happy to get away from the kryptonite, but Tim was already extricating himself from him.  Setting him down on the floor.  He felt cold and alone.

“Cassie!” Tim shouted.  “We’re in here with kryptonite.  You have to get us out _now_.”

“Kryptonite?” Bart asked, sounding muffled.  Kon knew he must have been losing consciousness because everyone was sounding farther away then they should.  “Is Kon okay?”

“Obviously not!” Cassie snapped, at least, it sounded like she said that.  Kon wasn’t really sure…

“Stand back,” someone said from outside the door, and Kon felt someone crouching over him.

“It’s finally time for _me_ to be _your_ human shield,” Tim murmured in his ear. There was creaking and groaning as the door was being pulled open.  Screws exploded from their stripping and whizzed and bounced and clanged around the room.

“Get him out, Bart!” That was Tim.

“Oh, Kon…” someone said mournfully. Footsteps. It must have been Cissie who said that. He heard the swish of the skirt; the fingers on Kon’s face were now her narrow calloused ones, cradling it intently.  _Someone’s touching me again_ … “He needs to get away from this stuff as soon as possible.”

“I don’t think I can lift him,” Bart said anxiously. His hands were under Kon’s shoulders, trying to lift, but they were too busy shaking to do any good. His voice was cracking. He was scared. “Or at least I won’t be able to run…I…” 

“Back up. Everyone back _up_! _”_ There was a lot of shifting and stepping as everyone moved away. “ _I’ll_ take him,” that was Cassie. He knew her by the way that she smelled. He was suddenly, but very carefully, lifted off the floor.  She held him cautiously, cradling him like a baby. They were already moving. “Don’t you worry Kon,” Cassie said fiercely, clutching him tighter.  She was moving fast; Kon could feel the air whipping at his skin. “I’ve got you, and I’m going to make Deathstroke _pay_ …”

Kon was feeling better by the second, but all he wanted to do was cry again.  They _care_ about me, he realized.  He had always known logically of course, but now he _felt_ it.  He _knew_ it in his bones.  _Each of them cares about me. Each of them **loves** me…_

Cassie’s fierce grip, Bart’s terrified tremor, Cissie’s concerned graze, and of course Tim…every touch Tim had given him…all of it was proof of Kon’s place in the world. All of it was tangible proof that he belonged.  A peaceful smile formed on Kon’s lips just before he passed out from his exhaustion. It might not have been the easiest way to learn it, but he felt like he could trust his team…his friends…now more than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay between chapters folks! I'm currently studying for the LSAT, and so I have less free time than I usually do...not to mention the stress is giving me just a liiiiiittle bit of writer's block. Anyway, as I've been saying for a while now, things are (finally) heating up between our protagonists, so just give these two idiots a bit more of your patience. 
> 
> Also, thanks for all the kudos! They never fail to make my day :)


	13. So What Is The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Justice gets a special guest!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hearkens back to some of Kon's struggles in Chapter 8 and Chapter 10. If you feel like you need a refresher, then those two chapters would be the best to rehash! Sorry for the delays in chapters!

The team was gathered in the main common room, and three out of five of them were almost literally _vibrating_ with excitement. Young Justice was the new team on the block after all, and although they already had a very impressive track record, they didn’t have a huge reputation in the Superhero Community. Therefore, it was very rare that they get _any_ guests in Happy Harbor, not to mention a guest _this_ special.

Kon was one of the two people who was _not_ acting excited. He sat away from the others and was using all of the “Super” in his body to not roll his eyes. He had made no special effort for the special guest.  He had rolled out of his bed this morning just like he had _every other morning_.  He had showered just as quickly as usual. He thought about shaving and _didn’t_ because this _wasn’t_ a big deal and everyone else just needed to _chill_.

It was clear that _no one_ else was in the same frame of mind.  Bart was not just figuratively vibrating with excitement, he was _literally_ buzzing, which was something he only did when he _knew_ something was going to happen but couldn’t say anything about it.  He was probably thinking something like, “this guy is _sooooo_ famous in the future guys you don’t even _know_ …” or  “He was literally my _hero._ I read about him in history books, and I’ve _always_ wanted to meet him; you guys just don’t under _stand_.” Kon cocked an eyebrow and chewed on his cheek in annoyance.  Bart was a hero in his _own_ right, and he could understand a _certain_ level of fanboying, but _this_ much? For _this_ person? 

But Bart wasn’t the only one, not by a long shot.  Although she was acting as cool as she normally did, it was difficult not to notice that Cassie’s gold-spun hair had more volume than usual, and though she normally looked beautiful, today was a whole different level.  Her eyelashes were darker and fuller. Her bright blue eyes popped.  She was wearing earrings in all three of the holes on both of her ears, little stars that decreased in size as they went up.  Kon could smell her perfume from across the room—though she wasn’t wearing that much of it; Kon just had a good nose.  It was musky and heavy.  It was a scent that was supposed to be sexy, Kon suspected.  Ma Kent had loads of perfume, but nothing that smelled like _that_.

Cissie was hardly any different.  She _never_ wore her Arrowette costume around the base, but today she was wearing the familiar ruby-colored outfit. The itty-bitty white skirt, the little red spandex shorts, the metallic sports bra, and the over-the-knee boots were all on display.  No mask though, and her pale blonde hair fell artfully around her shoulders instead of tied back in her normal, sloppy ponytail.  When Kon looked closely, he could tell that she had used makeup to conceal the spray of pale freckles that decorated her nose and made her look younger than she actually was. 

Tim was the only other person that appeared calm, but Kon could _hear_ his heartbeat, and it was definitely beating faster than normal. He was sitting up straighter too, and his “I’m so over it” demeanor was as much of a tell as the girls’ dressing up and Bart’s constant motion.  He was _trying_ to act cool and collected, even though he was just as anxious or excited as everyone else.

Tim’s excitement was more disappointing to Kon than anyone else’s.  He of _all_ people should know that this wasn’t a big deal.  That their special guest was literally _just a person_ , and he couldn’t do anything that Tim couldn’t do. In fact, Tim could probably do everything this person could do _better_ than him.  Didn’t anyone else _see_ that?

“What flew up your butt, Kon?” Cissie asked from across the room. Tim, Cassie, and Bart immediately turned their attention straight to Kon’s frowning face, which was exactly the opposite of what he wanted.

Kon figured it was pretty rude to come out and say that he was pissed that their guest was coming to talk to them, so he lied.  “The flight here was difficult,” he announced, not trying very hard to sound convincing. “I think that the whole kryptonite thing really wore me out.”

Cassie shot him a look of disgust as Cissie muttered, “Despicable,” under her breath.

Tim casually put an arm up on the back of the couch and crossed his ankle over his knee. Nodding to himself, he said, “Kon doesn’t see what the big deal is, I don’t think.”

 _Leave it to Tim to read my mind,_ Kon thought, feeling mildly annoyed.

“Are you _kidding_ me, Kon?” Bart asked in disbelief, zipping across the room at super speed and stopping a half a foot in front of Kon’s bored looking face.  “ _He_ is the reason we all can do what we do! Do you think people as young as us would be allowed to be crime fighters if he wasn’t as big a success as he was?” Bart grabbed at his thick brown hair and spun around dramatically. “Do you think Young Justice would even _exist_ if he hadn’t formed the first teenage superhero team _everrrr?_ ”

Kon just pursed his lips as Bart threw himself onto the couch and started writhing around like he normally did when the amount of energy in his body exceeded his mental ability to force himself to sit still.  “I guarantee that the girls are thinking more about his _backside_ than his _back-story_ , Bart.

Cissie blushed as red as her outfit, but Cassie just smiled placidly.  “Is that a problem?  That Cis and I appreciate a nice ass?”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Kon accused. Cassie frowned dangerously.

“No, Kon,” she said forcefully. “ _You_ are.  With this guy, it’s not ‘the boys want to be him and the girls want to be with him,’ it’s literally, ‘everyone wants to be him and _everyone_ wants to be with him.’ He’s a legend _and_ he’s hot.  He’s a role model to every young person in this business.  He has the respect of every single hero I’ve ever met, _including_ Wonder Woman.”

Kon blinked. That sort of was a big deal.

“Plus,” Cissie said, glaring at him coldly.  “I think you’re hurting someone’s feelings.”  Kon looked her questioningly and she jerked her head in Tim’s direction. Kon’s heart dropped. Tim _did_ look a little disappointed.

Kon wasn’t exactly sure how to explain himself.  “Tim, I—It’s not that I don’t—”

Tim just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Kon. You’re allowed to have your own opinions.”  Kon immediately fell silent, and didn’t even notice Cassie and Cissie shooting each other knowing glances.  Tim looked over to the computer monitor where an alert was flashing.  “Looks like the cove door is opening,” he stated.  “He’s here.”

“Oh my _God,”_ Bart cried, running around the room so fast that the girls had to hold on to their hair to prevent it from getting destroyed by the wind.

“Calm _down_ , Bart!” Cissie cried desperately.  “You want to look cool when he comes in, don’t you?” This seemed to reach Bart, though Kon wasn’t sure how he could hear anything above the sound of his own footsteps. He stopped immediately, and sheepishly walked ( _walked!_ ) over to wear the girls were sitting.

The elevator dinged, and everyone stood up like they were about to meet the president or something. Kon sighed and started to stand too, just as Dick Grayson walked in.

He looked more relaxed than _any_ of them, including Kon, and as soon as the doors slid open, his full lips formed a white, handsome, _genuine_ smile.  “Hi, everyone,” he said casually, moving so easily into the common room that it felt like he owned the place.

Kon tilted his chin and sized him up.  He was definitely good looking, and the rumors praising his appearance didn’t seem to be exaggerated even in the slightest.  Kon would definitely be taller than Dick when he was finished growing, but there was something about the confidence that Dick displayed that made him appear inches taller than he was.  Kon had expected him to be pale like Tim but, contrarily, his skin was a pleasantly warm milky-brown that made his bright blue eyes pop like gemstones. 

He had the best hair that Kon had _ever_ seen. It was inky and black and shiny without looking greasy, and it bounced and moved with every single step and gesture that he made.  Every position it fell in was just as flattering as the last.  It was cut a little shorter than Tim’s, but it was painfully clear that Dick’s artfully disheveled look was the one that Tim was aiming for.

What was worse was that his body didn’t disappoint his face. His physique wasn’t exactly on display—he was wearing a pair of fitted jeans and a loose Blüdhaven Police Department t-shirt, but Kon had a basic idea of what he would look like underneath. His shoulders were broad and his arms looked big and strong without looking meaty, while his torso tapered down to narrow hips and a pair of graceful, lithe-looking legs.  His famous rear was just as good as promised too; the fabric of his shirt pooled just above it to highlight the fact that it was indeed perky and round.

“Hey!” Everyone chorused as if they were greeting the hot new substitute teacher.  Dick smiled brilliantly and walked straight over to Tim, who looked as in love as a baby sea turtle seeing the moon for the first time. Dick had at least four inches on Tim, and so was able to tug him into the crook of his armpit and muss his hair. Kon narrowed his eyes suspiciously as Dick whispered something in Tim’s ear that made Tim blush.

“Tim!” He exclaimed, clasping the smaller boy’s shoulders fondly once he had finished whispering. “It’s been _way_ too long.  I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

Tim blushed pink. “I just haven’t had a chance to cut it,” he mumbled, clearly lying.  “Damian says I look like a girl…”

“Oh, you know what that means,” Dick said, waving a hand dismissively.  “He’s insecure about his own hair. He wishes it was less coarse.” Then he looked around the room, as if remembering it wasn’t just the two of them, and met each of the team member’s eyes in turn.  “Introduce me to the team!”

Tim smiled, clearly feeling a little bit special as Dick’s liaison to Young Justice. “That’s Bart Allen,” he said pointing at Bart, whose tail would be wagging at a million miles per hour if he had one. “Impulse.”

“Bart Allen? You’re 16 right?” Dick asked.

“Huh?” Bart said dumbly, clearly seeing stars. “I mean, yeah! I am!”

Dick smiled kindly. “You’re like two inches taller than Wally was when he was that age. I bet you’re going to be huge.” And as his height was perhaps the _only_ thing Bart was insecure about, that comment had probably made his entire life.  He looked ready to pass out.

Tim then introduced Cissie, who was uncharacteristically quiet, and Cassie, who was completely unflappable, as per usual.  She stepped forward to shake Dick’s hand with a quiet smile on her lips.  “It’s a real pleasure to meet you,” she said, making eye contact like it was nothing.

“Likewise,” Dick replied, flashing another grin.

“And this is Conner Kent, aka Superboy,” Tim said finally, pointing out Kon.  Dick raised his eyebrows for a split second, like he knew something about Kon that Kon didn’t even know about himself.

“My friends call me Kon,” Kon said, trying to get back on Tim’s good side just in case he had pissed him off earlier. Nightwing and Red Robin both smiled at that.

“Good to meet you all. I’m Dick,” their guest said, sitting down on the couch casually.  Everyone else immediately sat down too. Tim sat down directly next to Dick so that they were physically touching and looked at him just like a puppy looks at its owner.  Kon frowned. Dick continued. “Technically the Big Guys sent me here to give you guys an inspection.  But it’s not like I’m much older than you are, and I’m positive that you all run a tight ship.”

Cassie, Cissie, Bart, and Tim all glowed with pride at the compliment, but Dick looked completely natural, like he didn’t notice the pure adoration that four out of five team members were showering him with.  _At least he doesn’t have a big head_ , Kon thought, distantly deciding that it was kind of a miracle he was so humble.

“I don’t want to leave without doing _any_ thing though, so I thought I could just talk to you guys and see how you’re doing.  I know how complicated it is doing the teen crime fighting thing, so I thought, I don’t know, if you guys wanted to talk to someone, one-on-one, who has been through a lot of the same stuff as you—”

“Oh my god!” Bart exclaimed immediately before clasping both hands over his mouth when he realized that he was interrupting.

Dick just laughed. “No worries. And, ah, I don’t know what it’s like to have superpowers, but a Wonder Girl _and_ a Kid Flash were some of my best friends growing up.” As Cassie and Bart glanced at each other excitedly, Dick fixed Kon with a steady, intelligent gaze that reminded Kon that being happy did not equate to being dim-witted. “I can’t pretend to know anything about what it’s like to grow up Kryptonian, Kon, but I hope you’ll give me the chance to talk to you anyway.”

Kon nodded begrudgingly. There was no way he could say no after that.

 

* * *

  

Cassie stepped out of the spare room that Dick was using as a makeshift “office” and shut the door behind her, looking up at Kon from under arched golden brows. 

“He gets it,” she declared, staring at Kon like she had seen The Truth and, yea, verily, it was indeed mighty and glorious beyond all human comprehension.  “He just completely _gets_ it.” She narrowed her eyes at Kon as if she was _daring_ him to contradict her, and when he didn’t, she shot him a flirty little smile and strode off down the hall like she had a lot to think about.

Everyone had acted that way, as though Dick Grayson was not only Patron God of Teenagers and Sexiest Man Alive, but also some sort of Divine Omniscient Guidance Counselor who could solve all your problems with a long-lashed wink and a well-placed motivational phrase.

Kon sighed as he reached for the doorknob. He wasn’t buying it. Dick Grayson was just a guy after all, and being a good-looking talented acrobat didn’t make a person perfect. Young Justice already _had_ a Robin, and he was already a better detective and strategist than Dick Grayson would _ever_ be.

He stepped into the room, where a couple of chairs were placed awkwardly in the large empty space. Dick sat in one and gestured towards the other, smiling brightly.  “Sit!” He urged. And Kon did.

Dick sighed. “Was I too cheerful out there?” He asked, running a hand through his thick hair. “I feel like I came off a little bit condescending.”

Kon blinked. That wasn’t what he had been expecting. At all. “Huh? No way. Everyone loves you.”

Dick smiled ruefully. “That’s good I guess.  Tim told me that you’re a straight-talker, so if you say so I’ll quit worrying about it.”

Kon started to feel hot despite himself.  Tim talked to Dick about him?  Being a straight-talker was a good thing, right?

“So,” Dick began, sitting back in his chair like he had known Kon his whole life.  “What do you think of Smallville?”

“It’s fine I guess,” Kon said, intending to stop there, but there was something so expectant about Dick’s eyes that he had to keep going.  “I don’t know if Cassie told you or not, but I was dealing with a bit of…” he searched for the right word and was unable to come up with anything. “A bit of _stuff_ at school.”

“What happened?” Dick asked cocking his head, already completely invested in what Kon had to say.

Kon forgot to feel uncomfortable. “Well, right before prom, this guy at my school, uh, came out of the closet.” Dick narrowed his eyes as if urging Kon to continue, so Kon did. “I stood up for him a little bit when one of my friends was making fun of him, but, I didn’t really know _what_ to do. And this kid, this other friend of mine, did the _really_ heroic thing and asked him to prom so he wouldn’t feel scared to go.”

“Sounds like you made a really good friend in him.”

“Yeah, but I made a really bad friend in the other guy,” Kon admitted.  “Cassie and I went to prom together and hung out with these two guys the whole night, and I wanted to believe that when they saw Cassie and I with them, no one would make fun of them anymore, but that wasn’t what happened. They gay kid had to quit the baseball team and he couldn’t play in the state tournament, and my friend, Hugh, he lost a lot of friends too.”

“It sounds like he gained _your_ respect though.”

“Yeah, he did, but…” Kon considered his words carefully. This was the first time he was talking about this with anyone.  “I just wish Smallville wasn’t so _small_. Like, everyone there is so small-minded and I just want all of them to _change_. Now we’re out of school so I don’t have to deal with it as much anymore, but…”

“You’re disappointed,” Dick finished. Kon nodded, and the two of them stared at each other for a moment.  Kon wondered why he had said all that, and also wondered what in the world Dick could be thinking.

“I think I see why Tim likes you so much,” Dick said after a minute, causing Kon to blush again. “You’re really cool, but you’re kind of an idealist, aren’t you?” Kon had no idea what to say to that, so Dick just continued.  “You’re definitely like Clark.  He likes to wish for the best in people too.  I’m sure you wish you could use your heat vision to burn ‘Homophobes suck’ into the side of your school, but believe it or not, I think you’re already doing the best thing possible.”

“Really?” Kon asked, scratching the back of his head.

Dick grinned. “Really. You’re obviously a good-looking and chill guy,” he asserted, causing Kon to flush _again_.  “I’m sure people are already looking to you as an example of what’s cool and what’s not.  Just keep supporting your friend Hugh and this other kid and people will start to change their minds.”

Kon smiled despite himself, and Dick returned it enthusiastically.  After a moment, Dick asked, “What do you think of Hugh’s friend’s decision to come out as gay? Do you think it was brave or stupid?”

Kon considered this. “Probably a little bit of both,” he answered.

“How do you think?”

“Well, he only had a couple months of school left, he could have played on the state team and then come out afterwards.”  Kon frowned. “But I get it. Telling everyone who you really are, without knowing whether or not they’ll accept you, that’s got to take guts.”

Dick rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and then set his head on his fist.  “You have to feel similarly, right?” Kon felt his face twist into a look of alarm ( _How did he know?_ ), until Dick chuckled and raised a hand to calm him down. “I mean about the whole secret identity thing, hiding who you really are.”

“Yeah…” Kon said cautiously. Dick was maybe a better detective than he had originally given him credit for.  “I guess I feel like if I could punch through a wall at school people would change their minds a little quicker.”

Dick laughed. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he actually tossed his head back.  His white teeth stood out against his golden skin. It was such a happy sound and such a happy _sight_ that Kon actually started to laugh too.  “You’re probably not wrong,” Dick admitted, still grinning.  “But fear isn’t always the best motivator.  Otherwise, Gotham would be totally crime-free by now. Some things people just have to realize on their own.”

Kon nodded. It made sense.

“Speaking of Gotham, you should come by some time. Visit Tim at the manor.  I know he’d love to see you outside of Happy Harbor, and it might give you a chance to work out your…frustrations, shall we call them?” 

Kon’s pulse started to race.  What did Dick _know_? Was he trying to tell him something?  He looked intently at Dick’s face for some sort of hint, but his smile gave nothing away. “All right…” Kon said hesitantly.

Dick clapped his hands together.  “Good! Anything else you want to talk to me about?”  Kon considered this.  This was a good chance.  He doubted that Dick would tell Tim anything that they discussed in here. He was a bat after all, and they were notorious for being good at keeping secrets.  The problem was how to phrase the question. ‘Could Tim possibly like guys,’ sounded way too forward and ‘I think I’m starting to fall for my best friend’ sounded like way too much information.

So instead, Kon just said, “I’m good.”

Nightwing grinned. “Good. I’m having Tim give you all my number just in case you ever need anything. You’re free to go! It was _really_ nice to meet you, Kon.”

“Likewise,” Kon said, meaning it.  He shut the door behind him and saw Bart bouncing from one foot to the other excitedly.

“So?” Bart asked, a huge, expectant grin on his face.

Kon considered. Dick Grayson was just so different from Tim Drake that there wasn’t really any point in comparing them. It wasn’t a betrayal to say that he actually _liked_ Dick, was it? “He gets it,” Kon responded after a moment. “He just completely _gets_ it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist including another bat brother! I tend to write Dick as a sort of "golden boy," but since I'm writing from the perspective of Kon and Tim, I think the interpretation is warranted.
> 
> ALSO thanks for suffering through my delay in updates! This chapter is being posted in celebration of ME completing my LSAT this morning. I'm still in the midst of applying to law schools, so please be patient with me :)


	14. Lost in Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim uses his imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, you may have noticed that the rating of this fic has been upped to "M." I hope most of you are okay with it, but if you're not that's fine! I'd advise you to skip this chapter, or to read until the line, "Tim rather hastily plugged his phone back into its charger."
> 
> I usually try to keep fics about teens rated "T," but then I had to be honest with myself about the extracurricular activities of many high school boys ;)
> 
> If you don't feel comfortable reading this chapter at all, no worries. If the content of a chapter is "mature" in nature, I will ALWAYS give a heads up, and if you ever want to talk about what happens in the chapter, I'd be more than happy to give you a "T" rated run through over on my tumblr (batbrood.tumblr.com).

Tim had been trying to get to sleep in his bed at Wayne Manor for about thirty minutes when his cell phone buzzed.  It was the vibration pattern that sounded like heartbeats, which meant it was his “social phone” instead of his “work phone.”

Which was weird, considering it was five in the morning. No one in their right mind texted anyone for fun at five in the morning.

Tim winced as he grabbed his phone and the brightness of the screen practically seared through his retinas. Whoever was texting him now was lucky he hadn’t been able to fall asleep yet.  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light of the screen, but when he saw the name, he realized that the person who had texted wasn’t in his right mind at all.

**Jason Todd:**

> Hey Timmy.  Done any *thinking* yet?

Immediately, all the skin on Tim’s body from his clavicle upwards became superhot with embarrassment, even though there was nobody but him in his room and nobody could possibly understand what the text message meant even if they _did_ somehow find a way to read it, which Tim would never _ever_ let them do. _Ever_.

He couldn’t believe he had found his way into such an embarrassing situation.  Waking up in ex-Robin, current #15 on the FBI’s Most Wanted List Jason Todd’s bed with a raging headache had been bad enough, but remembering the events of the night before had been much, much worse.

At first, Tim had thought everything would be all right.  Jason had just met him blithely in the kitchen with a pot of coffee, some bacon and eggs, and a few ibuprofen tablets, which was actually really cool of him. 

_Maybe Jason will be chill about this_ , Tim had thought to himself hopefully as he chewed on his bacon.  _Maybe he’s finally trying to act like a big brother and is just working to make sure my teenage years are enjoyable_. _Better yet, maybe he’s forgotten about last night altogether!_

Jason had made no mention of tequila, or boys, or _imagination_ at all that morning.  In fact, he had barely said anything besides, “we make a good team,” as he tossed Tim that morning’s edition of the _Gotham Gazette_ , which highlighted the unprecedentedly lucky drug bust that the GCPD had made the night before.

Tim had stolen a pair of Jason’s sweatpants—too long—and one of Jason’s t-shirts—too big—and had taken a car home to the manor, hoping to avoid any pointed questions from Damian, Bruce, or Alfred.  All in all he had gotten lucky.  All in all things could have gone much worse.

Or so he had thought.

He realized that the full extent of the damage he had done might have been far greater than he had thought when Dick had strolled into Happy Harbor, pulled him into an embrace, and whispered, “Jay told me about your Kryptonian.  He’s cute,” _right in front of Kon._ To which Tim wanted to shriek, “He’s a Kryptonian, you idiot! Super hearing?! Have you _heard_ of it?!”

Tim had only barely managed to control himself.

Kon had acted no differently in the days following, and since his friend wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought he was, Tim figured he was in the clear on that front. But he had to wonder, if Jason had told _Dick_ , who he didn’t even really _like_ , who _else_ could he have possibly told?

Jason had asserted that he knew “everyone” in the Superhero circuit, and it was kind of true. He was between generations, so he knew everyone who was Dick’s age _and_ many of the kids who were Tim’s age.  What if he had told Cassie? What if he had told Cissie? What if he had told _Bart?_

Tim rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head into his pillow, trying to calm himself, and if that didn’t work, smother himself to death.  _Calm down, Tim_ , he thought to himself, coaching himself down from hysterics.  _You don’t know what they know, and you know they probably don’t know_ , _so you should operate like they don’t know what you’re thinking they know_ …

This whole situation had been making him extremely self-conscious and excitable, and he was starting to not even feel like himself anymore.  Tim rolled back onto his side, ready to re-consider Jason’s message.  He was going to have to respond, otherwise Jason would just get annoying and text him constantly, or even try to call him and _talk_ to him. With his _voice_. He would sneer, and his voice would do that obnoxious lilt-y thing that it always did when he found a weakness to be exploited and— 

Tim couldn’t—Tim _wouldn’t_ —deal with that.

And he shouldn’t lie. No, Tim didn’t feel like he could do that either. Because it wasn’t like he didn’t _want_ to try…“thinking”…about Kon, he was just a little bit afraid.  What if he did it and he didn’t like it?  What if he did it and it was great?

After Kon had had his run in with Kryptonite, Tim had been unable to even _begin_ to think about masturbating to him without feeling a huge surge of guilt.  It wasn’t sexy to think about your friend throwing up and passing out and generally acting terrified. 

Not only that, but Tim believed he might have been…overly tactile…with Kon in his weakened state. He would _never_ have touched Kon so much had Kon been feeling normal, but for some reason, when he was so scared and so completely and totally _vulnerable_ , Tim had been unable to think of anything else to do.

It was only after he was certain that Kon was perfectly normal and totally fine that he realized he should maybe take up Jason’s suggestion, but then he got caught up with stakeouts with Bruce, and _then_ he had to pull that all-nighter for school… 

Of course, he had done stuff during that time frame, but Tim just hadn’t been able to do it thinking directly about Kon.  Generally, he figured that his _best friend_ ( _oh God_ ) deserved better than a half-hearted rub down ( _Jesus Christ_ ) when Tim was feeling bored or tired or something.  Did that make any sense?  That even in his imagination, Kon deserved everything Tim could give him?

Tim glared at his keyboard and texted the truth:

> Not yet.

Tim didn’t expect a reply at all, so he almost jumped out of his sheets when he got one back almost immediately. 

**Jason Todd:**

> Why not? Scared?

Tim didn’t feel scared so much that he felt anxious, and that was a _totally_ different feeling, but he didn’t feel like explaining that to Jason over text, so he wrote:

> Busy. No time.

Tim didn’t realize how stupid that sounded until Jason immediately sent another text message back to him.

**Jason Todd:**

> No time to jerk off?  Only you, Timmy.

Tim groaned to himself as he imagined the laughter Jason was probably having at his expense right now. Why did he _always_ manage to come across like some pencil-pushing dweeb around Jason?  He could be at least _kind of_ cool around everybody else! He grabbed the silky pillow from the other side of his king-sized bed and stuffed it over his face as his phone vibrated a second time.

“What now…” Tim groaned as he forced himself to look at the screen again.

**Jason Todd:**

> Just do it. Right now.

Tim blinked. Never would he ever have predicted that the man who had once beat him to within an inch of his life would be texting him at 5:08 am with the express purpose of ordering him to masturbate to his human-alien hybrid clone boy best friend. He would have laughed out loud if it had been anyone else’s life but his own.

But the part of Tim’s brain that wasn’t caught up in how strange this situation was started to think. Now actually was as good a time as any.  He was wide-awake and needed to get to sleep. He had plenty of time to do things how he wanted to do them.  No one in the house would be awake right now, not even Bruce, and Tim was in his own room, in his own clothes, under his own blankets.

What were his qualms about masturbating to Kon again? He could barely remember. None of the obstacles that had been in the way before were present anymore, and before he knew it, the decision had been made.  Tim rather hastily plugged his phone back into its charger, and then he started to think.

Tim put his right hand in his boxers and left it there, not doing anything, just enjoying the warmth and using his brain.  _How would it go down_ … he let himself think, not noticing that he had never even let himself _start_ to think about it going down at all before.

He imagined Kon here, in Gotham, in his bedroom. That was good. It was dark, just like it was now. Maybe Kon was standing by the door. No. Maybe Kon is _floating_ by the open window—

And just like that, Tim felt a sudden flare of heat in his groin, followed by a huge release of adrenaline by his heart. His eyes flew open. _Shit._

He closed his eyes again a little more excitedly this time and started to rub himself absently, not stroking or anything yet, just applying a little bit of pressure, since he knew it was okay. Kon is floating by the open window. Okay.  _What do **I** say?_ “Kon?” Dream Tim asks a little groggily, and that feels right because what would Kon be doing in his room right now anyway?

Dream Kon doesn’t say anything, just smirks knowingly, and descends gracefully to the floor. He’s wearing what he normally wears, a tight-fitting black t-shirt, a pair of dark-wash blue jeans, worn a little bit at the knee, and a pair of motorcycle boots.  As Dream Kon walks closer to Dream Tim’s bed, he starts to finger the hem of his shirt, and Dream Tim really wishes he would just take his shirt off, so Dream Kon does.

His torso is even better than Tim remembers because now he can really look, can really _appreciate_.  The way his sun-tanned shoulders narrow to his hips is extreme, and his arms, good God his arms…Tim has always admired them. But looking at them now, they’re as solid as if they were carved from marble. 

Dream Kon kicks off his boots and goes to unbutton his jeans, and the muscles in his biceps flex and frame his chest, and Tim realizes that his body is beautiful, and really, really hot.  And boobs are _definitel_ y not necessary to turn him on because he’s getting pretty hard already and his heart rate is elevated and he already has started to breathe a little loudly—

_No, no focus_.  Tim ordered himself martially. _Focus on Kon, not just yourself_. He was going to see this thing through no matter what. Tim closed his eyes again. _Where was he…_

Dream Kon is just in his socks and underwear now, having peeled off his jeans.  Tim is surprised that he’s wearing a pair of ( _naturally_ ) black boxer briefs instead of boxers, but realizes that it probably makes sense, considering Kon’s penchant for clothes that are more on the tighter-fitting side. _He’s so hot. He’s so gorgeous_ , Tim thinks, really wanting to _touch_ Kon, his head already feeling a little bit muddy with want, and realizes that Dream Kon definitely _knows_ he’s hot and gorgeous by the way Dream Tim is looking at him, but Dream Tim doesn’t really care.

Dream Kon climbs onto the bed and braces his arms over Dream Tim, one hand on either side of his head. “Hey,” he says, his blue eyes bright and lucent even in the dim light.

“Hey,” Tim replies throatily, not knowing what else to say.  Kon smirks like he has a bad guy cornered, like he has Tim right where he wants him, and Tim realizes that this is definitely the hottest thing he’s ever experienced, and they haven’t even touched.

Kon leans down, taking his right hand off the pillow and brings it to Tim’s cheek, and Tim is just so, so ready for this kiss.  It’s his fantasy, so he doesn’t even try to be composed, to restrict himself. He grabs the collar of Kon’s tight shirt, grasping and pinching at the slippery performance fabric against Kon’s hard chest.  He yanks Kon down to his level, and hears a strangled sort of gasp as their lips touch. Was it in his fantasy? Was it in reality? Did he care?

Kon’s full lips are hot and warm and his breath tastes indescribable.  Their lips move against each other forcefully; Tim licks his tongue against Kon’s lip and Kon opens up for him hastily; there’s no tentativeness or restraint, only sloppy need.  Tim’s chest arcs up against Kon’s and the skin on their bare chest touches and Tim fails to strangle a moan that rumbles into Kon’s mouth. 

At this point Tim was stroking himself vigorously, going at it hard and certainly making a lot of noise. He just lost the ability to care. Kon moves a hand to grab at Tim’s hair as he nibbles at Tim’s throat, and Tim can’t help it, he makes some guttural noise and his hips buck up and grind against Kon’s. 

This get’s Kon’s attention, and Tim’s too.  They both realize that they’re both totally hard at the same time. Their eyes lock. They both realize how _good_ that feels. Kon smirks at Tim again, and moves a warm palm down Tim’s pale, scarred stomach to reach his boxers and pull him out, and Tim can barely take it.

Tim’s hand was already slippery and moving fast, just like Kon’s is in his dream.  He’s wriggling around, trying to hold his hips still, but Kon is making it impossible to keep a level head. The look Kon is giving him, proud, almost maliciously so, at the fact that Tim has completely lost it and is tossing his head around and gasping and clutching at his sheets is such a turn on, but it sparks some fire in Tim too, since he knows that this is also a rivalry, and that it would piss him off to lose to Kon and let him have all the fun…

So he reaches up to Kon and grabs him gently at his tip, his usually deft fingers trembling as they ghost up along his shaft, and Kon’s face, which has been smirking or focused or composed as usual this whole time goes slack, and his long-lashed lids flutter shut over his eyes, and his eyebrows tug upwards like he’s in pain, and his mouth opens into a pretty circle, and he _moans,_ “Ohhh, Timmm…”

And it was all over for Tim as his back arched up off his bed and he gasped as he came almost as hard as he had ever come in his life. His mind went blank for a moment, but Tim actually didn’t mind the lack of control, simply enjoying how tingly and loose and relaxed his body felt. 

He hadn’t felt this at peace in a long time.  Bane could have broken into Wayne Manor at this very moment and Tim was certain that he would have just smiled at him dopily. He let himself lie there for a moment, but he couldn’t wait too long because getting cleaned up before he went to sleep was a definitely a priority.

_Kon did that?_ Tim thought to himself as he made a wobbly-kneed walk to the bathroom to clean off his stomach and change his shorts. He still felt the effects of his orgasm in his body. His heart still felt excited. The air conditioning chilled him where sweat sat on his neck.

His phone flashed with a text from Jason when Tim made his way back to bed, and though he doubted that anything Jason could say right now could sour this feeling, he chose to let sleeping dogs lie.  For once, Tim Drake didn’t _have_ to know.

Tim supposed that maybe he did have a crush on Kon after all before he promptly fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you guys this would heat up soon :)


	15. The Prince of Gotham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer break has Kon separated from the Teen Titans, but even far away from Happy Harbor he can get a little taste of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little bit of a non-chapter--the plot isn't forwarded too much--but I love looking at normal people's perspectives of superheroes (and the Waynes in particular).
> 
> Also, thanks for the nice comments on the last chapter!! After that stuff, this chapter is firmly in the "fluff" category.

June was supposed to be a good month for Young Justice. Everyone was out of school (for summer or for good), no one had any homework, and the temperature in Happy Harbor was just _perfect_ : sunny and hot without being oppressively so.

But Kon wouldn’t know because, for the last couple of weeks, _he_ had been stuck in Smallville.

It was time for the winter wheat to be harvested. In fact, it was peak harvesting time, and Kon knew very well that Mr. Kent and their combine harvester were _both_ too old to be harvesting all of the fields themselves.

As far as Kon was concerned, he owed the Kents for their hospitality. They hadn’t adopted him like they had adopted Clark after all. If he failed to help them, then he was just being a burden on a couple of sweet old people.

So for the last couple of weeks, he had taken the old scythe to the wheat fields.  Even with all his super strength and super speed, he hadn’t been able to finish everything yet.  Harvesting wheat was a tricky process.  If Kon swung the scythe too fast, the wheat wouldn’t be cut down properly, and that was no good—the Kents needed every stalk he could get them.

Still, being a Son of Krypton was definitely an advantage.  He didn’t tire that easily—swinging through the stalks of wheat was like cutting through butter, and once it was all cut, it was too easy to pick it up and fly it back to the silo where it belonged.  When Kon had his iPod in, it was barely a job at all—just a workout.  One of the only downsides was the embarrassing farmer’s tan he had discovered after his second day at it, though scything shirtless had solved that problem pretty quickly.

The other downside had been that he hadn’t been able to see his friends recently, but in truth, it had been a good time to get away.  Something was up with their team dynamic.  There was an underlying tension when they were all together, and Kon was pretty certain that he was the cause of it.

Right before he had taken his leave of absence, Kon had caught Tim looking at him multiple times, and, when their eyes met, Tim always shifted his gaze down and away. Kon didn’t need a class in body language to know that Tim must be feeling uncomfortable for some reason.

Not only that, but their conversations had gotten both shorter and shallower, and when they lapsed into silence, it had started to feel awkward instead of comfortable. Neither Kon nor Tim were the type of people who felt that conversation was always necessary, but for some reason they were both fighting to keep conversations going when they were with each other now. Kon didn’t know why he was doing that. He suspected that Tim didn’t either.

The truth was—and Kon wasn’t exactly sure when he had decided this—he _liked_ Tim, as _more_ than a friend. Maybe it was their shared experience with the kryptonite, but he couldn’t help but think that Tim was attractive. The innocent thoughts that Kon had always had about Tim’s appearance made so much more sense now. It wasn’t platonic. Maybe it had started that way, but it wasn’t now.

But obviously, Tim was still his friend and his _best_ friend at that.  Kon knew now what happened when people were honest about themselves…it _changed_ things.  And though he was certain that Tim would accept him if he told him, things would definitely change, and not necessarily in the way Kon wanted.

His hesitation and constant self-policing around Tim was probably what was making things so awkward though. Kon was very careful about where he looked and for how long, about making sure he never touched Tim for an inappropriate amount of time, about being certain that he wasn’t paying him an excessive amount of attention. He was trying really hard not to make things weird, but his efforts were exactly what was causing the tension.

So, yeah. It had been a good time to get away.

His little sabbatical hadn’t been completely awful though.  Some of his buddies from the football team had stopped by to say hello. Hugh had come by a week or so after school had ended just to talk and laugh and drink iced tea on the front porch.  A few days after that, Marcus Poole, star safety and he of the svelte frame and dark good looks, had stopped in to drop off pictures that his girlfriend had taken at prom.

“You and your friend look like you’d make a good couple,” Marcus had said, easy-going, as the two of them perused the prints.  It hadn’t been exactly what Kon had wanted to hear, but it still might have been true. The pictures showed a couple that complimented each other perfectly.  Cassie glistened gold and beautiful. Kon thought that he looked dark and handsome . They both smiled, genuinely having a good time.

Thankfully Marcus never pushed anything, and unlike Aaron, he hadn't teased Kon for not pursuing Cassie.  He had left Kon with the prints though, and now two of them were framed—one on the wall of framed family members in the Kent’s parlor room, and the other on Kon’s desk, next to his picture of him and Clark.

Being “normal” for a few weeks hadn’t actually been that bad.

And now that he was nearing the end of his hiatus from Young Justice, Kon was actually feeling recharged. It could have been the amount of sun he was getting (tons) or the amount of sleep he was getting (at least nine hours a night), but he was starting to feel as though the fears he had about Tim were unfounded.  All he had to do was go back to Happy Harbor and pretend that everything was normal, and it would be fine, right?  People lived with crushes all of the time, right?  There was no reason to believe that he wouldn’t be able to too, right?

It was going to take him about three more days to finish the wheat fields, Kon figured, after taking an aerial view one evening. And then he could go back to being a superhero again.

He was reclining on his bed and getting ahead on one of his summer reading books ( _The Things They Carried_ by Tim O’Brien, not that bad actually), when Ma Kent knocked on his door.

“Conner?” She asked, not opening the door. “Are you in there?”

“Where else would I be?” Kon replied, not unkindly.  Ma Kent opened the door and bustled in with her hands behind her back.

“Well, how should I know?” The old woman said laughing.  “You _can_ fly...”

Kon grinned. “True,” he said. He looked at Mrs. Kent expectantly, as she was hovering in the threshold of his doorway a little uncomfortably like she was uncertain how to proceed.  “Is something wrong?”

“Oh! No Conner! Quite the opposite actually,” she said, grinning at him a little guiltily. “You’ve been working _so_ hard around here recently. _So_ hard.  I can’t remember the last time we had a wheat harvest this nice…”

“I have to earn my keep around here somehow, right?” Kon joked.

Ma Kent frowned. “Well, _no_ Conner, that’s just it.  You could sit around here like a bump on a log all the livelong day and Pa and I wouldn’t love you any less.  I might holler at you a little more often, but…”

Kon didn’t know what to say.  He was feeling incredibly touched and flustered and unworthy all at the same time. Clark had been _really_ lucky to crash land on this farm instead of on a farm of a family like the Akins.

“Well, anyway…” Ma Kent dithered, obviously feeling just as uncomfortable as Kon was with the sudden outpouring of feelings. “It’s not much.  As you know we don’t have very much extra money, and what do you buy for the boy who can fly around the world in ten minutes? But…”

The old farmwife held out a thick, glossy magazine towards Kon.  The cover was so shiny that Kon couldn’t even see the picture because it so perfectly reflected the light from his ceiling fan.  He _did_ know however, that Ma Kent couldn’t have bought it at the general store in town.  He had never seen a magazine like this there before. She would’ve had to drive to supermarket to buy it, which was twice as far away, and she had no reason to go all the way out there…

“Thank you,” Kon said, moved but confused.  _Why would Ma Kent have bought me a magazine as thanks?_ He reached to take the magazine, and when he saw the cover, no longer obfuscated by the high-gloss paper and direct light, he understood. “ _Oh_.”

“We know you miss your friends, Conner,” Mrs. Kent said, a little knowingly.  “Pa and I want you to know that we appreciate what you’re doing for two of us.”  She headed back towards his door with a smile on her face as Kon looked at her, his expression a little disturbed.  “Oh! And there’s a blueberry pie in the kitchen when you want it, dear,” she said winking and closing his door with a _click_.

It was an issue of _Nw_ _är_ , a Gotham society magazine filled with as many ads for diamonds and timepieces and designer clothing as actual articles.  Kon had never had the desire to pick it up before—fashion wasn’t something he was particularly interested in—and he probably never would again, but this issue…

This issue was an exception.  For on the cover, familiar face staring passively at the camera with thin, pink lips parted, was none other than Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne. The cover read: _Timothy Wayne. The Gotham W_ _ünderkind Talks Fun, Funds, and Why He’s Not Going to University Next Year._

The first thing Kon did was let loose a little bark of laughter. He could imagine Tim at the set, trying to keep up a blasé attitude, but actually being really, really concerned about getting a good, sexy picture. The thought of Tim posing and trying to look attractive for the camera was both hilarious and also a bit of a turn-on.

Kon quickly flipped through the magazine to find the cover story and was not disappointed. The black-and white picture introducing the article was of Tim, obviously, and it was a good one. His dark, glossy hair was tousled up and out of his face with mousse like some kind of boy-band front man.  He was wearing an oversize, light-colored cable-knit sweater, which he had grabbed and twisted tight around his body by crossing his arms over his chest and hips.  His lower lip rested against his shoulder, and he gazed away from the camera as if it wasn’t even there, highlighting his stupidly long eyelashes. _TJDW_ was written in a big, graceful, italicized serif font over the lower half of the photo. 

 _I sat down with Timothy Drake Wayne just days after his graduation from Gotham Academy to talk to the young heir about his plans for the future,_ The article began. _Usually when I conduct these interviews, I arrive ten or so minutes early, expecting that my subject will be a few minutes late, but I arrived to find Timothy, who likes to be called “Tim,” already seated, drinking a glass of sparkling water, and reading what must have been important emails on his phone.  After all, Tim Drake Wayne is not a normal teenager. He is as successful a businessman as men three or four times his age. He may not have even reached his eighteenth birthday, but he is already a busy man._

_He welcomes me with a small smile, a firm handshake, and an air of confidence that would turn many men in their twenties green with envy. “I was in the neighborhood and got here a little bit early to get some work done,” he says with a charming hint of bashfulness. Then he looks at your humble interviewer and sees right through her. “If I cut into your preparation time, I apologize! Don’t mind me. Just start the interview whenever you’re ready. Oh, and order anything you want off the drink menu,” he adds, shooting me a grin that he could only have learned from Bruce Wayne. “I’m buying.”_

* * *

 

 

_Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne has been the subject of many rumors in Gotham in the last year, not the least of which was his since disproved “marriage” to Tamara Fox, the daughter of Wayne Enterprises’ Director of Research and Development, Lucius Fox.  The accurate rumors have all been about the young man’s business prowess.  He became one of the youngest people to ever negotiate a multi-billion dollar deal, snagging the Wayne Family exclusive rights to produce technology patented by the west coast tech giant Kord Industries._

Kon blanched. Tim had talked about making a successful business-deal, but he hadn’t mentioned that it had been for _billions of dollars_. And though Tim had joked about his fake marriage in Happy Harbor last year, he hadn’t made it sound like a big deal.  This article was making it sound like he had been the talk of the town of something.

Kon flipped the page, eager to see more. The next picture was a double page spread, with the words placed carefully in the empty spaces of the picture.  Tim was wearing an expensive-looking white oxford shirt, haphazardly tucked into what must have been gray slacks, a satin bow tie untied around his neck.  He was pictured reclined in what must have been a window seat.  The backlight only caught the outline of his sharp cheekbones and his right eye. The rest of his face was barely discernable in shadow.

The article continued…

_The young Wayne blushes humbly when I bring up his accomplishments, and when I ask him to explain how a high school student could possibly be so good with business, he replies modestly.  “Some kids do athletics, some do theatre, some write for a school paper, some get involved in student government, and some get after-school jobs.” He shrugs. “Wayne Enterprises is my after-school job.  It’s just a little more high profile than most.”_

_“Did it ever feel like it wasn’t fair? That you weren’t being treated like a normal teenager?” I ask, and in response I get a cryptic little smile.  “I stopped being a normal teenager when I became a Wayne,” he says a little ruefully. “Luckily it was a consequence I knew full well when I entered this family. From the day I started living in Wayne Manor, I knew that I was going to be expected to do things both bigger and better. My extracurricular activities are no exception._

Kon snorted. _That_ was certainly true, though Tim was abnormal long before he became a Wayne.  He had discovered Batman’s identity when he was _nine_ after all.

_The choice that Timothy refers to is a commonly known story by now, but one that seems no less like a fairy-tale with repeated telling. An over-achiever from an early age, young Drake was a simple young intern in the Wayne Enterprise’s philanthropic department. Then tragedy struck when, through a senseless act of violence, he lost his father and became orphaned.  Timothy has said repeatedly that he had no extended family, and was considering entering the foster system or couch surfing with friends until he reached the age of eighteen, when the big boss, patriarch of one of America’s oldest and most affluent families, eccentric multi-billionaire Bruce Wayne offered generously to take him in._

_“It definitely seemed too good to be true,” Tim laughs, shaking his shaggy head.  “To this day, I have no idea what possessed him to do that.  I had maybe met him once or twice, and hardly said two words to the man. He may seem charming at parties, but in the boardroom, he’s intimidating. He knows what he’s doing. He’s not approachable.  When my lawyer told me who wanted to take me in, I was in shock.  I said something like, ‘Stop messing me, who really wants to adopt me.’ It just seemed too good to be true.  But Bruce does support a ton of children’s organizations, and maybe my proximity to him and our similarities just hit too close to home. I’m not sure. We don’t really talk about it that much.”_

Kon was starting to get an idea of just how well he knew Tim.  His frequently described laughter was probably the tight kind—the laugh he made when he was hiding something.  And just the fact that he knew who Tim _really_ was, why Tim was _really_ a Wayne, why Bruce Wayne had _really_ adopted him, was a source of pride. How many people actually knew the truth about that? It couldn’t be that many.

_The similarities between Bruce Wayne and his adopted son are indeed numerous. Both lost their parents to violent crimes and both have the sort of canny intuition for business that can take a floundering company and make it successful.  They even look alike, both with thick dark hair, pale blue eyes, and aristocratic faces with noble features._

_When I ask him what it’s like to have Bruce Wayne as a father figure, Tim simply laughs and smiles flirtatiously. “If you’re asking me whether or not I’m a playboy, that secret stays with me.” Then he pauses, seriously considering the question.  “To be honest, having him as a father-figure is both an honor and a privilege. The honor comes from the fact that he trusts me, and he doesn’t truly trust very many people. The privilege should be obvious—the Wayne name has opened doors that I never would have been able to walk through being simply Tim Drake.  I don’t consider myself lucky to be a Wayne.  I would give all of it up to have my family back, of course. But given the circumstances of my life, I am very privileged that Bruce is the one taking care of me”._

Young Justice avoided the subject of Tim’s parents like the plague out of respect for his feelings, but now Kon was genuinely curious about how Tim felt, being a Wayne. He wondered what was worse—having a father that constantly made him ashamed of himself and his parentage, or losing a father that was actually a good man. Kon hated Lex Luthor, but he found himself feeling grateful that he was alive. _“We’re more alike than we are different,”_ bolted from the ether into Kon’s head like lightning.  For the first time, Kon thought that it might be true.

_Speaking of privilege, Tim has announced that he plans to keep his job at his father’s company, though he plans to forgo college for the time being.  Typically a businessman without a business degree would seem a bit improper, but when your father owns the company, you get to pull some strings.  “There are some rumors going around that I didn’t get accepted anywhere, and that’s why I’ve made this decision,” Tim says with a princely smile.  “That’s actually true, but it’s only because I didn’t apply.  I got fair enough grades at Gotham Academy, and at the risk of sounding pretentious, I would have to be a complete idiot to get rejected from everywhere with ‘Wayne’ tacked on the end of my name.”_

Kon flipped to the last page of the article.  Tim was pictured in a well-tailored suit, looking apathetically into the camera lens, like he was born in a bespoke tuxedo and would probably die in one too. His gray eyes look keenly intelligent—a stark contrast to the boyish, product-filled mess that was his hair.

_He explains that the decision not to apply to college was one that he and Bruce arrived at together.  “I’m already pretty good at my job,” Tim says, his bashfulness coming through again.  “And I can learn much faster from experience.  Plus, I want to take a little break from school while I have the chance. I would like to have a little bit more free time to grow up, explore, find myself.”_

_This young man is so self-possessed, poised, and composed that I can’t imagine what it is he is missing. “What do you hope to find?” I ask, genuinely curious, already taken in by this true-life American Prince. He simply smiles enigmatically like he’s been doing all afternoon.  “I’ve had lots of expectations on me, from both my birth-father and Bruce.  I think it’s time I place some expectations on myself, and see if I can rise to them.” It’s a non-answer, but one so graceful that your humble interviewer can’t help but let it slide. Something tells me that the young Wayne would be too tough a nut to crack._

_Some question the wisdom of putting an eighteen-year-old on the business fast track, but I can honestly say that after speaking with Tim, I believe the decision is a good one if it’s not downright sagacious. With his composure and charm, Timothy Wayne can go nowhere but up.  Look out business world.  This shark may be young, but he’s got plenty of bite, and he’s got the resum_ _é to prove it._

Kon placed the magazine down on his desk and exhaled, realizing that he couldn’t remember the last time he took a breath.  The pictures of Tim were _very_ nice, and the article itself…

The article itself was completely fallacious. There was this princely version of his friend out there—this young almost-eligible bachelor, this youthful business mogul...And then there was _his_ Tim—friendly, honest, patient, plain-speaking, _loving_. Whatever awkwardness they were experiencing…he knew Tim too well for that to last.

Now the three days until he could return to Happy Harbor could not pass fast enough. Kon had been away too long. He would bring the magazine with him. Bart would _definitely_ want to see this, and the girls would too. Tim would be embarrassed of course, but that was half of the fun.

Kon made a mental note to do something nice for Ma Kent as he made his way downstairs to grab a slice of blueberry pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There wasn't too much development in this chapter because I was also writing a one-shot! Tomorrow (October 25th, 2015) begins Tumblr's TimKon week, and I wanted to participate since I've never done anything like that before!
> 
> EDIT- if you want to read the other timkon thing that I was writing this week, it's called "Dramatic Reenactment" and it's right here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5076571
> 
> Even though this chapter didn't have very much "action," I actually kind of like it. I had fun thinking up the aesthetic of a magazine article about Tim Drake. It would be my absolute dream to see the picture I described, but I'm not that good at art! Haha!
> 
> Again, thanks for all of your patience with these dumb boys. :)


	16. Them's The Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Game Night - Take Two! Young Justice plays a classic party game with a superhero twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever waited for something to happen for so long that you thought it would never happen? And then when it happens, it happens so fast that you know if you even so much as blink you'll miss it? :)

“Do I _have_ to?” Cissie cried over the howling of the wind. The gale off the coast buffeted her pale blonde ponytail and rippled and snapped at her red cotton v-neck. They were too high off the ground to feel the spray of the waves crashing against the rocks, but they could still hear the roar as the water hit the shore, and they could still smell the saltiness of the surf.  It was hard to forget it was below them.

“Them’s the rules, Sweetheart,” Bart said in a terrible Western accent, cocking his hip out and looking down at Cissie. He had her just edged out in height now, and was enjoying every second of it. His thick brown hair was also getting buffeted, but since it always looked windswept, he was the only one of the four of them that looked natural.  He smirked playfully. “You don’t have a choice.”

Cissie sighed a little shakily and stepped out of her converses, removing her socks and placing them carefully inside the shoes, just in case.  Her pink-painted toes gripped the slippery rocks beneath her. She was clearly scared to fall.

Her eyes met Tim’s a little desperately.  “Tim? I’m scared, okay? You never let things go too far.  I don’t actually have to do this, do I?”

Tim looked at Cissie from his position behind Bart and considered his options.  He might regret this later…Cissie would definitely want to take revenge on him, but…

“As Bart said, Cis, ‘Them’s the rules,” he smirked, hearing Kon chuckle beside him.  “This was all your dumb idea anyway, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Kon put his arm around Tim’s shoulder, which caused Tim’s heart to practically beat right through his ribcage and out onto the cold, wet rocks.  “Oh,” he purred sadistically.  “You’re remembering correctly.  Let’s get a move on Cissie, I want to go back inside.”

Cissie glanced at Tim one last time.  “Uhh…a boss says ‘go,’ and a leader says ‘let’s go,’ right? If you were really our team leader, you would come with me. Definitely.”

Tim just snorted as Kon shook with laughter around him.  “Jump, or I’ll push you.”

Cissie pouted. “Fine, fine.”  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and stepped backwards towards the cliff face. “One…”

“You can do it Cis,” Bart said, jogging in place anxiously.

“Two…” Kon let go of Tim, just in case he needed to take action too.

“Three!” Cissie leaned back and fell straight off the face of the cliff towards the churning swells below them.  The boys all rushed to the edge to see what would happen.  One second, Cissie was falling, screaming gleefully, and the next…

“Got you!” Cassie shouted, holding Cissie close and flying her back up to the cliff. Cissie was laughing like a maniac, and she had her hands clutched tightly around Cassie’s neck.

“That was _crazy_!” She exclaimed as the boys clapped and Cassie took a bow.  “Bart, you’re going to fucking _go down_ , I swear. Who dares someone to jump off a cliff?”

Bart grinned from ear-to-ear. “Me, obviously!  Why wouldn’t I, when we have this handy cliff here just _begging_ to be jumped?” 

* * *

 

Cissie had proven herself to be the worst influence again when she had brought more alcohol in celebration of Kon’s return to Happy Harbor.  It hadn’t been the same since he’d left.  There was one less person making sarcastic comments, one less person to confide in, one less playful smirk. 

And one less person to look at.

And _boy_ was Kon a sight for sore eyes.  When he had flown into their common room, Tim could hardly believe it was him.  His skin was about three shades darker, and his eyes were somehow _bluer_. Was his hair always that length? And had he gotten bigger?  His shirt definitely looked tighter. If the results were this good, Tim almost wished that Kon would go farming more often, except that Kon wouldn’t be here, and Tim would miss him.

Anyway, as per usual, in order to have access to her beverages—blender margaritas this time—the gang was obliged to play a game of Cissie’s choosing, and on this occurrence, the game was Truth or Dare.  Bart had gone first and had dared Cissie to jump off a cliff…

…and it had gone surprisingly well.

They filed down the staircase from the helipad on the top of the cove hideout back into the common room. Tim walked with Kon, imitating Cissie’s screams and guessing who would get picked next.  Bart was already chugging his margarita in the common room, and Cissie and Cassie were whispering seriously to one another, obviously deciding what stupid thing they were going to do next.

Tim, taking a sip on his overly sweet margarita, sat down next to Kon as Cissie folded her legs gracefully like a princess demanding attention.

“Now Bart, don’t think you’re off the hook.  Just know that revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“Whatever you say, lady.”

“All right,” Cissie sing-songed, glancing at Cassie conspiratorially.  Then she gazed at everyone in the circle until her eyes rested on…“Kon, truth or dare.”

Kon crossed his arms over his chest and stared Cissie down.  “Dare.”

Cassie snorted. “Obviously.”

“All right, Kon. Dare....” Cissie said, appraising him.  “Since you thought Tim’s little photo shoot for _Nw_ _är_ was so funny, I dare you to do one of your own.”

Tim felt his heart rate elevate in embarrassment. “Why did you think the photo shoot was _funny_ Kon?”

“Because it _was_ , Tim,” Bart asserted.  “You looked so _pouty_.” Then Bart frowned, as if his thoughts had finally caught up to his mouth.  “Hey Cissie, don’t you think that’s a little _involved_?”

Cissie laughed derisively. “More involved than making everyone go up to the roof and ordering me to jump off a cliff?  Sorry Bart. _Them’s the rules._ ”

“It’s fine,” Kon said nonchalantly.  “Is someone going to actually take my picture or am I just going to pose?”

Cissie considered this, and then smiled coyly like the best idea in the world had just occurred to her. “ _Tim_ ,” she said, her simper turning into an innocent smile. “You’re an amateur photographer, aren’t you?”

Tim immediately tensed up. He wasn’t sure if he liked where this was going.  “That’s—I mean, I _was_. It was a hobby a long time ago—”

“ _Perfect_ ,” Cissie said, clapping her hands together. “I’ll be the artistic director, and you can take the photos.”

Cassie laughed as Tim spluttered.  “Cissie, you dared _Kon_ , not me—”

Cissie smiled at him like he was a mouse in a corner and she was a cat with sharp, glistening teeth. “Am I asking you to do anything _hard_ , Timmy?”

Tim didn’t like the way Cissie said that, but he couldn’t exactly refuse her.  “Fine,” he growled, taking his phone out of its pocket.

“Great,” Cissie smiled, clapping her hands together again.  “And you’re modeling underwear today, Kon, so, let’s get a move on—clothes off!”

Tim couldn’t help but admire the calm way Kon just shrugged and started to take off his shirt. If their places had been switched, Tim definitely would have put up a fight.  Cassie and Bart started to whoop and holler as Kon unbuttoned his pants and peeled them off. Tim just messed with the camera settings on his phone and tried to calm his breathing.  This was getting too close to his secret fantasy for comfort. In fact, Kon was wearing black boxer-briefs, just like Tim had imagined.

“All right,” Cissie said, tapping her cheek with her forefinger in thought.   “Firstly, Kon. This is the last time I’ll say this, but if being a superhero doesn’t pan out, you could always do this underwear thing for a living.”

“Shut up,” Kon mumbled.

“Aww, look…” Cassie purred, smiling at Kon. “His ears are turning pink!

“Okay, go stand by the window,” Cissie ordered, smirking at Kon’s obvious embarrassment. “We’ll get the city lights in the background.”

Kon walked stiffly over to the window and looked at Tim and Cissie expectantly.

Cissie crossed her arms across her chest.  “Any requests from the crowd?”

“Hook your thumb in the waistband!” Cassie shouted. “Tease us a little!” Kon covered his face with one hand, and hooked the thumb of the other in the waistband, just like he was asked.

“Don’t cover the goods, Kon!” Bart laughed.  “Your face is the money!”  Kon let the hand that was on his face fall to his side and shot a dangerous-looking glare Bart’s way. Tim snapped the picture, his camera making its fake little aperture-clicking sound when he pressed the camera button.

“Nice smolder,” Cissie said, nodding.

“Are we done?”

“No, let’s get one more,” Cassie said, feeding off of Cissie’s sadistic streak. 

“Tim, _you_ give him a pose,” Cissie ordered. “You’re the photographer after all.”

Tim stiffened. He was taking the pictures, so no one would know that he had a crush on Kon if he ordered him to pose in the guise of teasing.  Plus, this was an invaluable opportunity to get a hot picture of Kon—assuming his friend didn’t order him to delete it, of course.

“Do that thing you always do when you’re embarrassed,” Tim said, looking at his phone screen instead of directly at Kon.  “Where you scratch the back of your head.”

“I do that?” Kon asked, cocking his head.

“Oh my god, you _do_ ,” Cassie said, shooting Kon a surprised grin. “He _does!_ ” She repeated, widening her eyes at Cissie.

“Like this?” Kon asked. He kept one hand in his waistband and moved the other behind his head, running the fingers through his short hair.  Then he _smirked_ , and raised an eyebrow, and Tim wasn’t going to miss getting that image on his memory card—no way in hell. _Click_.

Tim grinned and motioned for Cissie, Cassie, and Bart to come over and see the picture. Cassie whistled. Bart mouthed the word “wow.”

“We got the shot,” Cissie laughed.

“Can I put my clothes back on now?”  Kon asked, starting to sound exasperated.

“Only if you want to,” Cassie teased, winking.  Kon just turned redder and hustled over to his pants as the rest of them moseyed on back to the couches.

“I hope I don’t have to remind anyone that the pictures we took only get to be seen by the people _in this room_ ,” Cissie said sternly to each one of them as they took more sips of the blended margaritas.

“Don’t forget that I have laser vision, and I won’t hesitate to use it,” Kon threatened as he tugged his shirt over his head.  Tim nodded. He wouldn’t share the pictures with _anyone_.

“Understood,” Bart said amicably. “So Kon, who’s next?”

Kon sat right back down next to Tim.  “Cassie, since she had so many good ideas a minute ago. Truth or dare?”

Cassie simply raised her eyebrows, smiled ambiguously, and took a sip of her margarita. “Dare.”

Kon smiled at Bart like the two of them had some sort of dumb plan.  “All right, Cassie. I dare you to kiss Cissie.”

Tim laughed as Cassie glared at Kon.  “Unoriginal. I’m disappointed in you.” She turned to Cissie, smiled at her, and pecked her chastely on the lips.

“Hey!” Kon shouted, lurching forward suddenly and jostling Tim.  “That was too fast!”

“So specify next time,” Cassie said coquettishly. “It’s my turn right?”  Kon frowned at Bart, the two of them obviously feeling cheated. Tim just shrugged at Cassie, trying to tell her to continue.  Cassie looked over at Cissie quickly, as if to confirm something, and then said, “Tim, truth or dare.”

Tim thought. They were all doing dares, and he didn’t want to break the train, so…“Dare.”

“Okay, Timothy. I dare you to…” she narrowed her eyes, thinking hard. “I dare you to sit on Kon’s lap for the rest of the game.”

“What?” Kon shouted next to him, just as Tim shouted “excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Cassie said.  “What are you waiting for? You’re not going to hurt him.”  Tim turned to look at Kon, who just shrugged and bit and his lip. Kon took his ankle off of his knee to clear a spot, and Tim climbed on top of him.

“Sorry, Kon,” Tim mumbled.

“No worries, bro” Kon muttered tightly.

They both sat there stiffly as Cassie stared at them.  “Hmm,” she mused, stroking her lower lip with her thumb.  “That’s not nearly as sexy as I imagined.”

Cissie also looked disappointed.  “Come on, Tim! Stop sitting on his lap like he’s Santa Claus. Get comfortable!”

He wasn’t obliged to do what Cissie said, but, perhaps because he had been reunited with his old friend tequila, Tim was feeling a little bit daring this evening. He leaned back against Kon’s chest and scooted further back in his lap. It was definitely more comfortable than sitting as rigidly as he had been, and to his surprise, Kon didn’t seem to mind that much.  In fact, Kon’s arm snaked under Tim’s and around his waist to hold him in place.

When Tim turned back to look at Cassie, a slow grin was forming on her face.  “ _Much_ better,” she said in a low, soft voice, which caused Tim to feel hot. “It’s your turn now. Who’s next?”

Something was up between the girls, and Tim hesitated picking one of them in case it got turned around on him and Kon again.  “Bart. Truth or Dare?” Tim said, leaning forward to reach out for his (second) margarita. He couldn’t quite reach if he kept his spot on Kon’s lap, and his friend’s hand wasn’t budging from its spot on Tim’s lower stomach.  But then, to Tim’s surprise, his glass moved forward to meet his outstretched hand _all on its own_.

“TTK,” Kon explained from behind him, even though Tim had already worked it out. “Let me know if you need me to grab anything else.”

“Thanks,” Tim said gratefully, but confused.  He would have thought that Kon would have wanted him off of his lap as soon as possible.

“Dare,” Bart said, after watching their exchange with a funny expression on his face.

“Okay,” Tim said, taking a sip of his margarita. “Bart, I want you to kiss Cissie somewhere that’s not her lips for five seconds.” 

Bart immediately turned scarlet.

“Why am I always the one getting kissed?” Cissie complained.  She shot a glance at Bart, who hadn’t budged from his spot and was looking at her anxiously.  “It’s okay Bart. I don’t mind.”

Kon leaned forward into Tim to reach for his own margarita, and the two of them sipped as Bart made his way over to Cissie, _carefully_ for once, and sat down next to her on the sofa.  It was a little weird to watch Bart do anything mature, but he was about to seventeen in a couple months, so he wasn’t exactly a kid anymore.

He leaned in towards Cissie’s neck slowly ( _slowly!_ ) and placed a hand in her hair, which seemed to surprise her, and kissed a spot right below her jaw line.  Her eyes fluttered open wide as the rest of them started to count, “One one-thousand, Two one-thousand, Three one thousand…” Cissie’s eyelids started to close just as they reached five.

Bart leaned back, removed his hand from the far side of her head and looked at her expectantly. Cissie’s lips were parted when she turned to look at him, and she opened her mouth like she had something to say, but no words came out.

Tim couldn’t blame her. He was feeling a little hot and bothered too. He tested his luck a bit and snuggled back into Kon and was pleased when Kon let him.  The only protestation he made was a funny sort of exhale which Tim promptly forgot.

Bart smiled at Cissie apologetically and turned to look at the rest of them, who were staring at him like he was someone who they had never met before.  He fidgeted in his seat a little under the attention but didn’t move away from Cissie.  “Kon,” Bart said after guzzling his margarita.  “Truth or Dare?”

Tim couldn’t see Kon’s reaction to being chosen, but he _did_ feel Kon’s grip tighten on his hip. “Dare,” Kon said.  Tim could feelhim talking behind him since his back was pressed flush against Kon’s chest. He started to feel hot and took a couple of calming breaths as Bart looked at Cassie and Cissie as if trying to psychically communicate or something.  Eventually, Cissie got the hint and leaned over to whisper something in Bart’s ear.

“Kon,” Bart said, smiling impishly.  “I dare you to go to the bathroom and take off your underwear. You’re going commando for the rest of the night!” 

Immediately Cissie and Cassie screamed “Yessss!” and high-fived Bart emphatically.

Tim scooted off Kon’s lap as Kon glared at Bart and the girls.  “ _What_ is your fascination with my underwear tonight?”

“Just _go_ , Kon!” Cassie ordered as Bart and Cissie sniggered. “ _Them’s the rules_.” Kon rolled his eyes and stomped off towards the bathroom.  Tim took the final sip of his second margarita and went to pour himself another one while they waited for Kon to come back.  When he peeked over from the kitchen, Bart, Cassie, and Cissie were all huddled together, talking quietly.

“What are you whispering about?” Tim asked innocently as he walked back with his third margarita and sat down.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Cassie responded coolly. “Oh _look_ , here comes Kon.”

Kon looked exactly the same except that his cheeks were pink and he was holding a black pair of boxer-briefs in his hands.  He held his underpants up for all of them to see.  “Happy now?”

“Thrilled,” Cissie said, shooting Kon the sort of inscrutable smile that Cassie was known for.

Kon sat down next to Tim on the couch and looked at him expectantly.  Tim frowned, confused.  “What?” he asked, cocking his head. 

“You’re getting drunk,” Kon admonished, blushing for some reason.  Then Tim felt the familiar feeling of Kon’s telekinesis on his body as he was lifted into the air and dropped ungraciously back down on Kon’s lap.

“Oh,” Tim said dumbly as he clutched his margarita for dear life and blushed.  The rest of the team was giving him grins even more wolfish than they had been before.  It finally occurred to Tim that they might know something that he didn’t as Kon’s arm found its way around Tim’s stomach like a seatbelt.

Tim was keenly aware of the missing layer of fabric as Kon shifted in his seat.  “ _Cissie_ ,” Kon growled.  “Truth or dare.”

“Since I’ve been involved in three dares now, I’m gonna go with truth.”

“Tell us exactly what you were thinking when Bart kissed your neck,” Kon ordered.  It was obvious that he was feeling pretty smug about his question, as he leaned farther back into the couch and spread his legs out a little bit more.  Now Tim was _reclining_ on Kon, and instead of Tim’s legs being on top of Kon’s, they were on either side of Kon’s right leg. Tim had the impression that he was melting into him.

Cissie immediately put her head in her hands in response to Kon’s question, and Bart scooted half an inch away from her, so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

Cassie, for once, had her emotions painted all over her face.  She was absolutely _jubilant_. “Tell the _whole_ truth, Cis,” she encouraged, clutching her hands to her heart.

“Okay,” Cissie said shakily, clearly uncomfortable being completely honest about her experience. Tim stole a glance back at Kon to get an idea of what he was thinking, and the two of them smiled at each other excitedly, perhaps a little too thrilled at how uncomfortable Cissie was feeling. 

Cissie took a deep breath as if to summon a little bit of extra confidence.  “I was, um, surprised by how soft Bart’s lips were,” she admitted, looking everywhere but Bart.  “And I thought that he would kiss me more hesitantly, but it was a good amount of pressure.  _Perfect_ even.”  Bart looked absolutely stunned, almost _scared_ , but he refused to take his eyes off Cissie’s increasingly pink-colored face.  “And then when he shifted the position of his head, his hair tickled my shoulder, and it made me realize that his hair is really, really soft too,” she admitted. “And I—I—”

“Come on, Cis,” Tim urged, leaning forward.  Cissie was never this upfront, and this was a _revelation_.

“His hair was really soft, and I wanted to run my fingers through it, since it’s such a nice color, and it’s so thick,” Cissie said, rushed.  Bart put a hand up to his hair, like he had never noticed that it had grown out of his head before.

“You’re leaving something out,” Cassie prodded knowingly.

Cissie glared at Cassie as if to say _whose side are you on?_ But she finished her statement nonetheless.  “And when the five seconds were up, I wished I had a few more. Happy?”

“Happy!” Cassie cried while everyone else stared at Cissie in disbelief. 

“ _That’s_ a new development,” Kon whispered, pulling Tim back into his chest. 

“You’re telling me,” Tim sighed.  He was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol now, though not as badly as he had felt them at Jason’s place.  He could probably fall asleep like this, he realized.  Kon was really warm, and maybe if he wriggled around a little bit more he’d be able to find just the right spot.

He was gathering the courage to do just that when Cissie glared at him like she had lost her patience. “Tim, truth or dare.”

Tim didn’t like the idea of being asked just how much he liked sitting on Kon’s lap (a lot), so he said, “dare.”

Cissie smiled and nodded at Cassie.  “Kiss the person of your choice on the lips for five seconds.”

“That’s not fair!” Tim said his gut dropping.  The pleasant little alcohol buzz he had going flew out the window and was replaced with panic. “That’s both truth _and_ dare!”

“Then pick the person you really want to kiss, or don’t,” Cissie shrugged.  “Just pick _someone_. I don’t care who.”

Tim looked between Cissie and Cassie and tried to pick one of the two of them to kiss. Everyone else was kissing Cissie this evening, so it would be easy to pass off kissing her as that. But then, Cassie was absolutely gorgeous and Kon had kissed her once too, so that wasn’t a bad option either. 

Bart was a possibility too. It would surprise everyone, and he’d just heard this riveting personal testimony to Bart’s soft lips and perfect pressure…

Of course, he _really_ wanted to kiss Kon, but he couldn’t do that…could he?

Something in his gut told him to reconsider that assumption.  He was sitting on Kon’s lap, and they were practically one person they were pressed so close together.  Kon had shown no sort of hesitation in putting Tim back on his lap after he’d gone to the bathroom.  Kon had him gripped at the lower waist, for crying out loud, that _had_ to be a little bit of a sign. And if Kon freaked out about it, Tim could always pass it off as a joke, right?

Tim glanced back at Kon, whose stupidly blue eyes opened wide in shock—and maybe something else—as Tim turned around to straddle him.  Behind him Tim could hear Bart muttering something like, “ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” but Tim was totally focused on Kon.

“Since you’re right here…” Tim said shyly, unconsciously biting his lip.  He saw Kon’s pupils dilate. He couldn’t be imagining that, could he?  “Can I?” He asked.

Kon licked his lips and tilted his head up towards Tim’s face.  “It’s fine,” Kon said throatily.  “Them’s the rules, right?”

Tim grinned widely. He could hardly believe what he was about to do, but he did it anyway.  He put a hand in Kon’s hair at the back of his head, looked straight into Kon’s eyes, and then gently put his lips on Kon’s.

Tim was conscious of the fact that the room had erupted into chaos behind him, but he was too preoccupied with Kon’s lips to care.  They were a little chapped, but just as full as he imagined, and Kon didn’t seem tense with Tim kissing him at all.  In fact, Tim felt Kon’s hand press against his lower back, urging him forward.  Tim sighed happily and smiled against Kon’s mouth before kissing him slowly a second time, so drunk on tequila and on Kon that he felt light-headed and dizzy and really, really warm.

“Five one-thousand!” Came way too soon.

Tim pulled away from Kon and the two of them looked at each other in wonder.  Kon’s pupils were blown wide so that his normally cerulean eyes were pitch-black, and he was breathing heavily.  The two of them looked each other with heavily lidded eyes. All Tim wanted to do was to keep kissing Kon, but there were three other people in the room that he wasn’t exactly comfortable with watching them make out.

He turned around, perched on Kon’s knee, and shrugged at his teammates in an excellent imitation of nonchalance.  “I think I win truth or dare,” he said proudly.

Bart was sprinting around the sofa, and Cissie and Cassie were grinning at each other ecstatically.   He couldn’t look at Kon, but Tim was happy that if these games had to end with _someone_ kissing Kon, this time it had been him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! ! !
> 
> FINALLY!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! And I'm sorry for not posting for a while! Hopefully the next one will be up within 10 days. (How do fic writers who post regularly do what they do?! They're saints!!)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my silly little TimKon fic! I welcome feedback, so if you having anything to say, please leave a comment below. Also, if you're interested in picking my brain about something related to this story or to comic books in general, leave me a message or follow me on my tumblr, batbrood.tumblr.com. Thanks!


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